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THE SILVER MEDAL STORIES* 


By J. T. Trowbridge. 

1. THE SILVER MEDAL. 

2. YOUNG JOE AND OTHER BOYS. 

3. HIS OWN MASTER. 

4. BOUND IN HONOR. 

5. THE POCKET RIFLE. 

6. THE JOLLY ROVER. 

All Handsomely Illustrated, 

Sets in neat bon. 


LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, Boston. 




THE CAPTIVE’S DREARY RIDE. — Page 23L, 




BOUND IN HONOR; 


OR, 


A HARVEST OF WILD OATS 



J« Tf TROWBRIDGE, 


AUTHOR OF “HIS OWN MASTER,” “COUPON BONDS,’ 
JACKWOOD, ” ETC. 


BOSTON : 

LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO. 



4 



;t«e library OF 4 
CONGRF&S 

Two Gooies rtecaivfld p 

OCT 12 $05 

- Oeoyfffht Entry 

S^h.'M. > 9 «i' 

>$Lkm WU> •*«>» i 

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c opy ^ 

f^n.raTawft.r'Ti^ f ^** 3 ** ' • ~ * ■* 


Copyright, 1877, by 
J. T. TROWBRIDGE 


CQPYRIGHT, 1905, BY 

J. T. TROWBRIDGE 
All Rights Reserved 


BOUND IN HONOR 




CONTENTS 


- 

CHAPTER I. PAGB 

Some Village Youngsters prepare for a Little Fun . 11 

x 

V 

CHAPTER II. 

The Fun grows rather serious 20 

CHAPTER HI. 

Shows how a Glorious Frolic ended 27 

CHAPTER IV. 

Our Hero has a Poor Appetite 22 

CHAPTER V. 

An Invitation to call on the Selectmen 37 

CHAPTER VI. 

Eyeteeth Alcott measures Heads with the Chairman 
of the Board of Selectmen 42 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Selectman’s Head proves the longer of the Two 52 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Roy declines to measure Heads with Anybody, but 
takes his Own out of the Way 62 

5 


6 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER IX. 

Why Mabel opened the Blinds of her Window at 
Three o’Clock in the Morning 71 

CHAPTER X. 

Rot sets off on a Long Journey 76 

CHAPTER XI. 

Roy makes a Large Number of Small Acquaintances . 80 

CHAPTER XII. 

Our Hero helps a Whole Family to ride while he 
goes afoot 89 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Roy sets up as a Clockmaker 96 

CHAPTER XIV. 

What Roy saw from the Window 102 

CHAPTER XV. 

The Disadvantage of being interrupted in One’s Work 109 

CHAPTER XYI. 

A Little Game of Hide-and-Seek 116 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A Ride on a Locomotive 121 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Roy’s Experience of the World increases, while his 
Funds diminish 126 


CONTENTS 


7 


CHAPTER XIX. 

Roy seeks Employment, and falls in with a Party of 
Pleasure 134 

CHAPTER XX. 

What promises to be an “ Awful Scrape ** 140 

CHAPTER XXI. 

A Race on Skates 146 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The Second Trial 152 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

What our Hero did with the Prize Skates 158 

CHAPTER XXIY. 

The Adventures of a Silver Cup, and the Inconven- 
ience OF BEARING TWO NAMES 163 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Roy rides after an Extraordinary Horse 168 

CHAPTER XXYI. 

Obed writes a Letter, to which he adds a Postscript 174 

CHAPTER XXYII. 

Our Hero goes to work, and is interrupted 182 

CHAPTER XXYIII. 

Dumpt Drollerb’ Tactics 190 


8 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

Concerning some Hay Roy did not wish to purchase, 
and a Lad who did not have it to sell 194 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Drollers borrows a Lantern, and gets a Boy to 
hold it 199 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

An Adventure with a Famous Steed . 208 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

A Beggar on Horseback 216 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

How Roy exchanged his Horse for a Locomotive 
Cow-catcher 227 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

A Fellow-Traveler, a Public House, and a Private 
House 238 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

The Wrong Moses and the Right Moses 246 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A Bargain in Horse-flesh, and its Pleasant Sequel . 257 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A Call on the Widow Graves 267 


CONTENTS. 9 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

Why Roy was wanted by the Judge , . 275 

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A New Friend and a Confidential Talk 286 

CHAPTER XL. 

Some Pleasant Surprises 300 

CHAPTER XLI. 

Mabel and the Rockwood Family, with other Old 
Acquaintances 308 

CHAPTER XLII. 

In which all ends as pleasantly as could have been 
expected 323 

































BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER I. 

SOME VILLAGE YOUNGSTERS PREPARE FOR A LITTLE FUN. 

r 

A WAY in the heart of New England, the village 
of Bayfield nestles among its wooded hills. 
Here, from a little seed carelessly scattered, one 
winter’s night, a sudden and tremendous crop was 
grown. For there is this peculiarity about the seed 
in question, that it may be sown at any season of the 
year, and you may look to see it spring up and flour- 
ish, and perhaps plague the youthful sower during 
the best part of his life. 

It is the story of those wild oats which I am now 
going to relate. 

The evening had been still, and not very cold. 
There was no moon. One bright star hung low in 
the west. A gauzy cloud overspread the dim upper 
sky. 


(in 


12 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


It was growing late. The sober village folks were 
in their beds. Only the less sober sort were abroad. 

On the village green — now a pallid sheet of snow 
— stood the ghost of a white meeting-house. Behind 
the meeting-house were the long, low horse-sheds ; 
about one of which you might have seen, had you 
been passing, unusual and mysterious movements. 

Some three rods back from it stood an old barn ; 
and from the corner of the shed, past the side of the 
barn, ran a stone wall. Along by this wall two dark 
figures crept over the frozen crust, which now and 
then, stealthily as they moved, cracked beneath their 
weight. 

Suddenly, a low whistle from the shed, like a pre- 
concerted signal. Down drop the crawling figures, 
and lie like black logs beside the wall. 

For the meaning of the signal they did not have 
long to wait. 

Creak — creak — creak ! 

The sound of footsteps on the crisp, hard-packed 
snow, advancing along the icy village sidewalk. 

Louder, louder, louder ; creak — creak — creak! 
They have turned from the sidewalk into a path which 
passes behind the meeting-house, and in front of the 
row of sheds, a short cut between two streets. 

“ See him, Turkey ? ” said an earnest whisper under 
the shed. 

“ Turkey ” seemed to be the long-necked, lanky 
youth who had his eye at a knot-hole in one of the 
boards. 


PREPARING FOR A LITTLE FUN. 13 

“ Yes ; keep still ! He’s coming right here.” 

“Who is’t?” 

“ Do’no’ — young feller. Git down, Herky.” 

“ Herky ” must have been the short youth who was 
trying to set his feet upon a sill, in order to bring his 
eye up to the level of his companion’s knot-hole. 
Two other youngsters were peeping through cracks 
between the boards. 

Creak — creak — creak — creak ! 

“ Something in his hand,” whispered one. 

“ Roy, with his fiddle,” whispered another. 

“Oh!” from the lanky one, in any thing but a 
whisper. 

It was an outcry of pain, in fact ; Herky, in climb- 
ing, haying pinched a claw — that is to say, two fingers 
of Turkey’s right hand — between his boot-sole and 
the beam. 

The creaking suddenly ceased. The comer stood 
outside the corner of the shed, listening. Herky and 
the two youngsters at the cracks were laughing and 
chuckling noiselessly, and Turkey was sucking his 
injured digits, also without noise, though he was 
swearing a good deal inside. 

Just then one of the figures by the wall, tired of 
resting on one elbow, turned a little, in order to rest 
on the other. 

Creak, creak, went the breaking snow-crust. 

“ Who’s there ?” cried the listener, sharply. 

Half-suppressed laughter from the shed. Then a 
low voice : — 


14 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Porcupine.” 

This was a pass-word current among the young 
rogues of the village. The new-comer responded 
readily with another, which showed him to be one of 
them. 

“ Beaver.” 

“ St ! Come here, Roy ; keep dark ! ” 

“-What’s the fun, Moke?” said Roy, joining his 
friends in the shed. 

“ Promise not to tell if you don’t help.” 

“ Of course I won’t tell. But why couldn’t you 
keep still and let me go home ? ” 

“ Go on home now and hold your tongue,” said 
Moke. 

“ Catch me,” said Roy. “ If any sport is up I 
always stay. You know that.” 

Y es, they knew that ; so did Roy’s family ; so did 
Roy himself, only too well. His love of wild com- 
panions, and what they called “gay times,” counter- 
balanced many fine qualities, and threatened to develop 
into a reprobate one of the brightest and bravest lads 
in the village. 

Sixteen years old, hardy, athletic, with a quick wit 
of his own — an orphan, but adopted by a kind, an 
almost too kind uncle — the best swimmer, skater, 
runner, and wrestler of his age and weight in the dis- 
trict ; good-looking, and aware of it, Roydon Rock- 
wood seemed fitted to excel in whatever he under- 
took. 

Unfortunately he did not undertake what his best 


PREPARING FOR A LITTLE FUN. 


15 


friends wished to have him ; nor stick to any thing 
very long. They urged him to make the most of his 
advantages, instead of squandering them until youth 
and opportunity were gone ; to put himself earnestly 
to his studies, and prepare to enter upon some useful 
career — be a physician, perhaps, like his worthy uncle. 
Good advice, as Roy knew well in his heart. But 
he had always something else on hand, so much more 
interesting to him at the moment than any serious 
studies. 

The last attraction was a violin, in which his uncle 
indulged him, hoping that it would serve as an outlet 
to the boy’s exuberant spirits, and save him from worse 
things. 

He had been to practice with a more experienced 
player, when, taking the short cut past the meeting- 
house that evening, he unluckily fell in with a crew 
he had promised to avoid. 

There was Moses Meredith — nicknamed Moke — 
one of the wildest boys in town, though his father was 
a minister, and preached in that white meeting-house. 

John Burnet, called Turkey from his long neck and 
gawky ways. His father was a butcher. 

Herky Little, the tailor’s son, christened Hercules 
by an ambitious parent, who meant to have at least 
one strong name in the family. From this powerful 
graft, one would think that stalwart proportions 
should have grown even upon an insignificant stock. 
But Hercules Little, oddly enough, remained Little, 
both in name and stature, like his father, and in spite 
of his father. 


16 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


George Alcott, sometimes called Dod, and some- 
times Eyeteeth Alcott, he was so sharp. His father 
kept a grocery, where more rum was sold than mo- 
lasses. 

Roy recognized these four good-for-naughts, and 
one of them — it was Moke, the minister’s son — took 
him to an opening in the back part of the shed, made 
by knocking off a board, and showed him the two fig- 
ures by the wall. They were no longer logs but 
stumps — tired of lying in the snow, they were sit- 
ting up. 

44 Who’s that ? ” Roy asked. 

44 Tommy Twombly and Iry Bradish.” 

Tommy Twombly, a young vagabond from the ho- 
tel stables, and Ira Bradish, son of a respectable 
farmer. Vice is a great leveler, and roguery is a com- 
mon ground on which well-born and low-born meet. 

One of the stumps stirred its roots, changed to a 
creature with legs and arms, and, coming back to the 
shed on all fours, thrust a paw into the opening. 

44 Nobody but Roy,” said Moke, in answer to a 
whispered question. 44 He’s O. K.” 

“Any thing the matter, Iry?” Herky inquired. 

“ I dropped my matches in the snow,” replied the 
face at the opening. 44 Put my knee onto ’em. Who 
has got some ? ” 

There was a quick inquiry for matches, and a hasty 
fumbling of fingers in vest pockets in the dark. 

44 1 have some,” said the ready Roy, and handed out 
a card. 44 What are you going to do with matches ?” 


PREPARING FOR A LITTLE FUN. 


17 


“ Hain’t you guessed?” said cunning Dod Alcott. 
“ Old D. W.’s got to come out to-night.” 

“ D. W.” was Daniel Webster — name, not of the 
statesman, but of the town fire-engine. 

Roy understood the situation in a moment. This 
was not the first time young rascals in the village had 
deliberately set about firing old buildings, in order to 
see them burn, get up a lively alarm, and have out 
that big plaything with the hose and brakes. The 
poor fellows were weary of the monotony of life, and 
pined for a little excitement. And what was the use 
of a fire-engine if it was to be kept quietly housed all 
winter ? 

Not one of these precious rogues, by the way, be- 
longed to the fire-company, but only to that class of 
idlers and hangers-on who “ run with the machine,” 
and think of a good blaze, no matter who suffers by 
it, only as the occasion of a few hours’ glorious frolic, 
— the class, in a word, which has brought fire-com • 
panies into disrepute, and changed so often what is 
intended as a protection to society into an instrument 
of mischief. The more fire-engines the more fires. 

Roy, to do him justice, was a little startled. 

“ Morey’s barn? ” 

“ Of course. There’s nothing in it but a little 
moldy hay, and some old plows, and broken horse- 
rakes.” 

“ But these sheds may catch from the barn ; and then 
the church may catch from the sheds. Your father’ll 
be out of business, Moke, if the meeting-house 

burns.” 2 


18 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Let it burn ; I don’t care ! Then I sha’n’t have 
to set through the old man’s long sermons,” said the 
irreverent Moke, son of the minister. 

But the other boys insisted that there was no 
danger : it was a still night ; and, even if the sheds 
should take fire, “ old D. W.” would be on the spot 
to put it out before it could make much headway. 

Now Roy, too good-natured to wish to do any per- 
son a wanton injury, was also too good-natured to 
strenuously oppose the schemes of these reckless 
rogues. Moreover, a bottle was passing around ; and, 
after tipping it once or twice to his mouth, he was 
more willing than ever to stay and see the sport. 

“ I wish I had back my matches,” he said, smack- 
ing his lips. “ But never mind. Where did you get 
this?” 

“ Dod Alcott furnishes the stuff,” said Dod himself, 
proudly. 

This was one of those shrewd things which had 
earned for him the name of “ Eyeteeth Alcott,” 
though I dare say old Alcott would have thought 
it any thing but shrewd. When ever the boys wanted 
molasses for a candy frolic, or something to keep 
them warm on a cold night like this, — any thing, 
in short, which the paternal grocery afforded, — they 
had only to praise the son’s superior cunning in 
order to get it. Cunning, indeed, to rob his own 
father for the sake of a little poor fun and cheap 
flattery ! 

“ How are they managing it?” said Roy, growing 
interested. 


PREPARING FOR A LITTLE FUN. 19 

“ There’s a hole in the underpinning,” replied 
Herky. “ A lot of us brought hay under our coats 
from Tommy’s stable. They’ve stuffed it, with a pile 
of sticks, through the hole, and now they’re ready to 
touch her off.” 

“ Dod’s plan — ain’t it cute?” said Moke, nudging 
Roy, to let him know that the cunning one must be 
praised. 44 Don’t you see? We’ve a splendid chance 
to hide here and watch ; then, when the alarm comes, 
we can start out and run either way, and it will look 
as though we had come past the sheds, if anybody 
happens to see us. Now look sharp.” 

Five eager faces peered through the opening in the 
back of the shed. 

“ There’s Iry cornin’ to cover,” said Turkey Bur- 
net. 44 Tommy’s at the hole ; he’s scratchin’ 
matches.” 

Roy remembered, with an uneasy feeling, that they 
were his matches, and hoped the fire would not kin- 
dle. 

44 He’s done it! he’s done it!” two or three wild 
whispers ran through the dark, empty shed; and 
Tommy came scrambling fast on hands and knees 
back to the opening, where his friends made way for 
him to crawl in. 


20 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE FUN GROWS RATHER SERIOUS. 

T HE star had set. The village homes were dark. 

Chill and dim lay the white world without ; 
wrapped in comfort and slumber lay the peaceful 
dwellers within. 

Suddenly wild cries ring through the deserted 
streets. 

“Fire! fire! fire! fire!” 

Then upon the terrified night breaks the alarm of a 
bell — clang ! clang ! clang ! clang ! 

The sleepers wake ; startled ears leave their pil- 
lows ; eyes of fear open wide. Householders think 
of their homes and goods, purchased with so much 
toil, kept with so much care. Mothers tremble for 
their little ones, who may in an hour be left houseless 
in the winter night. 

All seemed peace and serenity a minute before ; now 
no man’s roof is safe. 

A strange, ruddy glow shines in at the windows, 
crimsons the snow-mantled earth far and near, and 
changes the hazy clouds to a canopy of fire. 

The silent, sacred night is invaded by mad uproar 
and lurid glare. 


THE FUN GROWS RATHER SERIOUS. 


21 


Fire ! fire ! fire ! Clang ! clang ! clang ! Hurrying 
footsteps echo along the icy streets; and now, with 
shout and clatter and tinkling bells and red gleams 
of the swinging lantern, the fire-engine comes rushing 
down the street. 

“Old D. W.” is out at last. 

Firemen starting from sleep and bed at the first 
alarm, leaping into trousers and boots, and striking 
the sidewalk almost at a bound, vie with each other 
in reaching the doors of the engine-house, and launch- 
ing the machine. Few the hands at the rope at first, 
but presently, from up street, from down street, out 
of by-streets, out of every court and alley, come flying 
feet of men and boys ; eager hands of men and boys 
lay hold, and an ever-increasing crowd hurls the Jug- 
gernaut-car of our young village heathen noisily along 
its course. 

Where is the fire ? Many, relieved to find that it 
is at a distance from their own homes, forget that it is 
near the homes of others, perhaps in those homes, and 
turn to sleep again. 

Some say, “It is the meeting-house!” But no — 
there is the calm, tall steeple shining ruddy-white in 
the glare of the flames. 

“ The horse-sheds, then ! ” But there are the sheds 
broadly lighted up to the eyes of those who hurry 
from one direction, and sharply outlined against the 
light to those coming from another. 

“Morey’s old barn!” Who would have thought 
that it could make so good a blaze, and pour such vol- 


22 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


umes of smoke and flames and sparks — as from a 
fiery crater — up into the sky? 

The barn, with its moldy hay, and straw not so 
moldy, below and aloft, and its old farm-tools, was a 
mere gulf of fire by the time the engine reached the 
spot. No saying that! But here were the house- 
sheds, and yonder was Morey’s new barn, only a half- 
dozen rods off — his house just beyond — the meeting- 
house on this side — every roof shingled, and dry as 
tinder, and showers of sparks falling, as if the clouds 
rained fire. 

Still as the night was a little while before, now a 
rushing wind set in toward the burning building from 
every direction, the upward-surging fountain of 
flames and rarefied air drawing in torrents of fresh 
air to fan the blaze. 

The frightened Morey family heard the roaring and 
crackling, and, looking from their windows, saw the 
fire almost at their doors. What outcries ! what ter- 
ror and dismay ! Half-dressed children running from 
room to room, unmindful of the cold, their appalled 
faces painted with the red flashes through the panes: 
the father sharing the panic, not knowing whether to 
stand in the door and shriek for help, or run and save 
his horses in the new barn, or stay and pack his house- 
hold goods for a sudden removal. 

It is but a few minutes, and yet it seems almost an 
hour, before the engine arrives, and a wild, shouting 
crowd fills the door-yard, and the suction-hose is 
pushed into the cistern (cellar- window broken for the 


THE FUH GROWS RATHER SERIOUS. 


23 


purpose — how frightful the sound of shattered glass 
at such a time ! ) and the brakes are manned. The 
hose-pipe is run forward across the snow-covered 
field ; helmeted heads show in the glare of the flames ; 
the order is shouted back : — 

“ Play away ! ” 

The brakes rise and fall — clank, clank ! The filling 
hose-pipe spits at leaks and joints, and struggles like 
a live thing in the head man’s guiding hands. Then 
out bursts a silver stream from the nozzle, sways, 
tosses like a plume, mounts higher and higher, 
and strikes, hissing, upon the flames. 

“ Fools, to waste water on that old shell ! ” cried a 
clear voice in the midst of the tumult. 

The voice of Roy Rockwood, who had been one of 
the most active hands at rope and brakes, but had 
turned away in disgust when he saw the engineer’s 
design. 

“ What would you do with the water ? ” cried the 
owner of the property, in an agitated voice. 

u Wet down these roofs the first thing, your house 
and new barn, and then those sheds,” said Roy, 
greatly excited. “ A stream on the church-roof may 
be needed by that time.” 

“ I don’t know but the boy is right ! ” exclaimed 
Seth Morey, taking fresh alarm. “ Cistern don’t hold 
much water.” 

“ Give us a pail,” said Roy. “ I’ll go up on the new 
barn, for one, and watch for sparks. What’s the good 
of the ladders down there ? ” 


24 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


“ Quickest way will be to go up through the barn 
and get out on the roof from the scuttle,” said Mr. 
Morey, bringing a couple of pails, which were quickly 
filled at the well. 

Just then a fresh chorus of shouts went up : — 

“The sheds ! — the meeting-house sheds are afire! ” 

The shingles of the low roof, parched by the tre- 
mendous heat, and sprinkled by the meteoric showers 
of sparks, were blazing in two or three places. A 
dash of water from the hose soon changed the kin- 
dling flames to clouds of vapor ; but the incident 
served to quicken the preparations for wetting down 
Mr. Morey’s roofs. 

Up through the new barn, by stairway, to the hay- 
loft, thence by a short ladder to the scuttle, and out 
of the scuttle upon the roof, went Roy, like a squirrel. 
Ira Bradish followed, and passed up to him a pail of 
water from hands below, after Roy had reached the 
ridge-pole. 

In a minute there were three or four young fellows 
on the roof, passing and repassing pails, in the wild 
fire-light. One crept up to Roy, who was dashing 
water upon the shingles wherever a spark fell, and 
said, in a suppressed voice : — 

“ Couldn’t find it !” 

“ Couldn’t find it, Dod Alcott ! ” said Roy, angrily. 
“ I told you it was on the beam, up in the corner, 
where your bottle was.” 

“ I know it,” said Dod. “But ’tain’t there ; nor the 
bottle, either. Somebody’s took ’em.” 


THE FUN GROWS RATHER SERIOUS. 


25 


Roy had hidden his violin in the shed when he hur- 
ried forth to give the alarm and run with the engine, 
and had afterward commissioned Dod to take care of 
it. The result did not please Roy, for good reasons ; 
and he charged the cunning one with stupidity. 

“ Go again,” he said. “You must find it. I can’t 
leave here, or I’d go myself.” And he muttered, in a 
fierce tone, his face glowering upon Dod in the red 
gleam: “We’ve done mischief enough for one night. 
This barn sha’n’t burn, unless I burn with it.” 

Safe enough the roof seemed, surely, with him on it 
and buckets of water coming up to him through the 
scuttle. 

And yet he had scarcely spoken, when another yell 
of alarm burst from the crowd below, and frantic ges- 
tures pointed to the new barn. 

Roy looked all about him, standing erect on the 
ridge-pole, poised, pail in hand, ready to dash at a 
spark in any direction. 

But the roof was now pretty well drenched, and 
sparks were extinguished almost as soon as they 
touched the shingles. 

Roy, turning again, nearly lost his footing in his 
excitement, and cried out : — 

“Where? Where?” 

The barn — the very barn he was on — was myste- 
riously on fire. 

“ Here ! ” shrieked a voice behind him. 

He looked, saw a sudden puff of smoke rising from 
the roof, and shot half a pail of water into it, through 


26 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


it, through roof and all, without finding fire, or any 
resisting substance, save Turkey Burnet’s head, which 
chanced to be there and received the charge full in 
the face. 

Then Roy saw that the fire was in the barn, and 
that the smoke aimed at was surging up through the 
scuttle, down which Turkey was making his escape. 

Dod and Ira followed Turkey, running the gaunt- 
let of the smoke, and Roy found himself alone on the 
roof with a new fire roaring and snapping its teeth in 
the hay-loft under him. 

At the same moment rose a cry of dismay from the 
yard. The water in the cistern had given out. 



ON THE BURNING ROOF. — Page 26. 























































THE FUN GROWS RATHER SERIOUS. 


27 


CHAPTER III. 

SHOWS HOW A GLORIOUS FROLIC ENDED. 

T HE suction-hose was shifted to the well, while 
the long service-hose came coiling about on 
the snowy field toward the new barn, like a huge 
captured anaconda in the hands of howling natives 
of the forest. 

Up went a ladder against the end of the barn, 
mounted instantly by helmeted men, digging the 
great snake after them. 

Meanwhile, an attempt was made to get Mr. Mo- 
rey’s horses out of the barn, but, maddened by the 
tumult without, and the sight of flames, they broke 
from the hands that held them, and rushed frantically 
back to their stalls. 

Somebody yelled to Roy : — 

“ Shut that scuttle ! Shut that scuttle ! ” 

The opening in the roof acted as a chimney to the 
fire raging below. Roy sprang to it, and, after a 
brief but fearful struggle, smoke pouring into his face 
and tongues of flame darting out at him, licking his 
hands, closed it from above. The smothered roar and 
crackle in the loft, between hay and rafter, was now 
something terrific. 


28 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


The ladder did not reach the roof, but stopped at 
the mouth of the loft in the end of the barn. The 
door there had been unhooked from within, and 
pushed open a few inches, by some person unknown, 
propably one of our young lovers of fun looking for a 
good place to see the old bam burn. 

Whoever it was, his reckless curiosity had caused 
all this later mischief ; for, while Roy was resolutely 
at work above wetting the shingles, a fatal spark, 
drawn in through that slight opening by a draft from 
the scuttle, sailed down upon the sloping bank of 
hay, which in a moment burst into a blaze. If the 
rogue was still there, he did not stop to put it out, 
but scrambled back over the hay that crowded the 
loft, perhaps waiting to see the new barn burn with 
the old. 

“Play away !” yells the fireman on the ladder, 
bringing the hose-nozzle to the door of the loft. 

But no water came. The well was deep, and the 
suction-hose had to be lengthened before it would 
work. And now, since the scuttle was closed, fresh 
air rushed in at the open stable doors, and flame and 
smoke burst out from the loft into the faces of the 
men on the ladder. 

They recoiled, descending a round or two, and 
yelled again : — 

“Play away! Play away there!” not yet compre- 
hending why no water came. 

Meanwhile the horses, blindfolded with blankets, 
had been got out of the barn. 


SHOWS HOW A GLORIOUS FROLIC ENDED. 29 

At last the engine drew, and a good stream went 
into the loft. Roy, still on the roof, desperately keep- 
ing his station, even after his efforts there had become 
useless, heard the smiting volley wash the rafters 
under him and hiss in the burning hay. 

Only for a few moments. Again the engine sucked 
air, the stream sank, failed ; there was no more water. 
The supply had been scanty in the first place, and 
two sets of hands rapidly sending up full buckets to 
the roofs of the barn and house, had nearly exhausted 
it before old D. W. came to drink. 

Mr. Morey, seeing no hope for any of his buildings 
now, tossed his arms in the air and groaned aloud : — 

“ I am ruined ! I am ruined ! ” 

His family meanwhile prepared for flight, and a 
strong force of neighbors were carrying out his house- 
hold goods and stacking them in the orchard. 

The fire in the loft, choked for awhile, was now 
raging again, and smoke issued through chinks in the 
roof. Roy saw that if he was to leave it alive, 
he had no time to lose. He did not wait for a ladder 
the firemen were placing for him, but, sliding to the 
peak, threw himself over, and went down the light- 
ning-rod, hand over hand, like an athlete. 

The engine was run out of the yard and up the 
street, to take water from a neighbor’s well and cis- 
tern. But, before it got fairly to work, two fire-com- 
panies from adjoining towns arrived almost simultane- 
ously from opposite directions, with shouts and 
clattering machinery, amid acclamations of joy from 
the assembled crowd. 


82 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER IV. 


OUR HERO HAS A POOR APPETIT'E. 

OY did not make his appearance the next morn- 



IV ing until after the family had breakfasted and 
the table had been cleared, with the exception of a 
solitary plate. 

He came down stairs looking pale and haggard, but 
brightened a little on meeting his cousin Mabel, a 
sprightly girl of about his own age, with sparkling 
dark eyes, and a temper given to teasing. 

“ Sleepy-head ! ” said Mabel, archly laughing. 

“ Reason why,” said Roy, not inclined to laugh. 

“ Blue ? ” said Mabel, with a charmingly saucy air, 
peering into his face, her dilating eyes full of dazzling 
brightness and merriment. 

“ Black,” Roy answered, smiling now in spite of 
himself. “ Am I going to have any breakfast ? ” seat- 
ing himself at the table. 

“ Do you think you deserve any ? ” retorted his 
pretty cousin. 

“ If you and I had only our deserts,” he replied, 
“ we might both go hungry sometimes.” 

“Well, here’s what you don’t deserve then,” and 


OUR HERO HAS A POOR APPETITE. 


33 


Mabel brought in coffee and chops, which she had 
been keeping warm for him. “ Skylarking again last 
night, young gentleman ! ” she said, placing his break- 
fast before him. 

“Skylarking? That’s good!” said Roy, with a 
grim laugh. “ Look at that! ” And he showed a 
blistered hand. 

The merry girl was sobered in an instant. 

“ O Roy ! How did that happen ? ” 

“You see,” said Roy, with an indifferent air, as if 
he didn’t care to brag about trifles, “ I was at the fire, 
working like fury to save Morey’s barn — on the roof, 
you know — when the hay in the loft under me took 
fire, and, to smother it, I sprung to shut the scuttle. 
The flames were bursting into my face, something 
about the fastenings caught, and — that’s what’s the 
matter with the back of that hand. Then, like a 
fool, I came down the lightning-rod. That was a 
bad job for the inside of both hands.” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Mabel, her face all pain and pity, 
“ why did you ?” 

“ I don’t know. I had mittens in my pocket, but 
never thought to put them on. A fellow gets excited, 
such times, and don’t care for little hurts. Lost my 
violin — that’s the worst of all.” 

“That beautiful violin — your Christmas present! 
O Roy!” 

“ I shall get it again. Somebody carried it off for 
safe keeping, I suppose. I laid it up under one of the 
meeting-house sheds when I went to fight the fire. 

3 


34 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Dod Alcott promised to look for it. When the sheds 
threatened to burn he went for it, but couldn’t find 
it.” 

“ Bright in you, I should think, to trust that fel- 
low to take care of any thing you pretend to think so 
much of,” said Mabel. “ You won’t get another very 
soon.” 

“That’s consoling,” said Roy, cutting his chop. 
“How just and considerate girls always are! Of 
course I was a silly fool to risk my violin and blister 
my hands trying to save another man’s property. 
And now, of course, I don’t know what a loss I’ve 
met with, but need to be told of it by my kind, my 
dear, kind cousin.” 

“ Forgive me ; it is too bad,” said the penitent 
Mabel. “ Your lost violin, and your blistered hands, 
I mean. And to think it is all on account of those 
abominable scamps.” 

“ What abominable scamps? ” 

“ Those who set the fire ; for father says it must 
have been set.” 

“ Of course,” said Roy, carelessly, pouring out his 
coffee. “ An old barn like that doesn’t commit suicide. 
I heard talk last night about some enemy of Morey’s 
having fired the building for revenge.” 

“ Father doesn’t think it was an enemy,” Mabel 
replied. “ Three barns have been burned within a 
year, — all set on fire, — and it isn’t to be supposed the 
owners all have enemies. He says there’s a gang of 
desperate rowdies in town, who set fires just for the 
sake of the mischief.” 


OUR HERO HAS A POOR APPETITE. 35 

“ I wish he would tell who the rowdies are,” said 
Roy, and recklessly gulped down his coffee. 

“ I wish somebody would, and have them pun- 
ished,” replied Mabel ; “ every one of them.” 

“ Yes, I suppose ’twouldbe a good thing,” said Roy, 
using his napkin. “ Little more coffee, Mabe. Not 
quite so much milk.” 

“ Though I don’t know what punishment would be 
severe enough,” she added. “ I’ve no patience with 
such villains.” 

“ Needn’t slop my coffee so, if you haven’t,” replied 
Roy. “ That ain’t to blame.” 

Mabel set down the coffee-pot with a spiteful air, 
and wound up her sweeping condemnation of the 
offenders with, “ Hanging is too good for them.” 

“No doubt,” said Roy, stirring sugar into his cup. 
“ But, good heavens, Mabe ! what a ferocious little 
animal you are. I always thought you were rather 
tender-hearted, but now you show your claws.” 

“ I don’t care” — Mabel had heard her father talk 
at the breakfast-table, until she was full of indigna- 
tion. “ I wonder at you , Roy. I believe you would 
find excuses for the scoundrels.” 

“I?” laughed Roy. “If I had my way about it, 
I’d hang ’em all together — the tallest in the middle, 
and the shorter ones on each side, like a row of organ 
pipes. It’s you that would make excuses for ’em, come 
case in hand. You’d find that each of these fellows 
had a father and mother and sisters, or some friends 
who would feel bad about them, and that he probably 


36 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


didn’t mean to do any thing so very wrong, and 
wouldn’t do so again. That’s the way with you 
women folks.” 

Roy was trying so hard to appear at his ease that 
he rather overdid the business. He was uncomfort- 
ably aware of Mabel’s searching eyes upon him, and, 
with a guilty conscience and sick heart to hide, it was 
no easy part he had to play. 

“ Roy ! ” said Mabel. 

And as he looked up he saw those bright, dilating 
eyes reading him, with a strange expression. 

She said not another word, and he made no reply 
The glance that passed between them was enough. 


TO CALL ON THE SELECTMEN. 


3T 


CHAPTER V. 

AN INVITATION TO CALL ON THE SELECTMEN. 

W ITH troubled mind and shaky nerves, masked 
under an air of bravado, which he flattered 
himself was an air of innocence, Roy left the table, 
and sauntered back to his room, whistling a cheerful 
tune. 

He hoped to have another talk with Mabel ; for, the 
more he thought of that strange look she gave him, 
the more it disturbed him. But she kept out of his 
way ; and, finally, with a handkerchief wrapped 
around his scorched hand, he sauntered into the 
street, still whistling with a show of excellent spirits. 

He thought he would talk freely of the fire and of 
his lost violin, and carry off his trouble of mind with 
a bright and smiling countenance. But he had not 
gone far before he heard bad news. 

The bearer was Moke Meredith, who came over to 
him from across the street, grinning, with a pale and 
sickly face. 

“ You’ve heard — ’ 

“ What ?” inquired Roy, nerving himself. 

“ They’ve got Eyeteeth Alcott.” 


38 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Where ? ” 

“ In the selectmen’s room. They’re skinning him 
alive with their cross-questions. They’ll be after you 
next.” 

And Moke laughed. 

Roy had tried hard not to be startled by what was 
coming ; but he was now pale with consternation. 

“ Dod will bring us all in ! ” he said. 

“ He’s welcome to bring me in,” Moke answered. 
“ I had nothing to do with it. I didn’t carry the bag 
nor help in any way.” 

“ Nor I, as for that matter,” said Roy. 

“ Why, yes, you furnished matches.” 

And the small, dissipated eyes of the minister’s son 
twinkled with vicious satisfaction. 

Roy was angry. 

“Somebody called for matches, and I gave ’em 
before I knew what they were wanted for. But let 
me tell you, Moke Meredith, neither you nor I will 
get off on the plea of innocence if it’s proved that we 
were on the spot last night, and saw what was going 
on. And I don’t like to see you so quick to pull your 
fingers out of the crack, and leave the other fellows’ 
fingers to be pinched. You were in the scrape as deep 
as any one, and you’re not going to shirk your share 
of the blame.” 

u It’s a state prison job, if it’s proved,” said Moke. 
“ Any fellow’ll save himself from that if he can. 
But you and I needn’t be afraid, Roy. Our families 
stand too high. They never ’ll touch a minister’s son.” 


TO CALL ON THE SELECTMEN. 


39 


44 Don’t flatter yourself,” Roy replied. “ If they’ve 
got hold of Dod Alcott they’ve got hold of a loose 
end, and the whole thing is going to unravel. There’s 
Dumpy Drollers now ! ” 

Drollers was a village constable, a man of stocky 
build, with a coarse, red face, whom the boys nick- 
named “ Dumpy,” and treated (behind his back) with 
familiar disrespect. 

Roy did not like the looks of him just then. His 
manner showed that there was exciting business on 
hand ; and he walked straight up to the boys. 

“ Rockwood,” said he, “ the selectmen ’ud like to 
see you at their room.” 

The words, though quietly spoken, were a blow to 
Roy. Sheer force of will helped him to keep a steady 
countenance and play his part. 

44 What do the honorable gentlemen want of me ?” 

44 They think you know suthin’ about last night’s 
fire.” 

44 Well, I should rather think I did! I got a blis- 
tered hand by it. But what particular thing am I 
supposed to know about ? ” 

Drollers answered evasively. 

44 They’ve been pumping George Alcott, I hear,” 
said Roy. 44 Does he know any thing about the fire ? ” 

Drollers smiled. 

44 He does and he doesn’t. Truth is, George has 
got a leetle mite tangled up a-tryin’ to explain things, 
and now George himself needs explaining. Only 
way for a boy in his place is to tell a straightforward 
story. Will you come ? ” 


40 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Certainly,” said Roy, with the utmost apparent 
frankness. 

“ Can I go, too ? ” said Moke, looking as if he might 
like to see any fun that was going on. 

“ If you’ve any thing to tell, they’ll be glad to have 
you in your turn,” said Drollers. “ One at a time, 
though.” Whereat Moke’s ardor seemed suddenly 
quenched. 

With head erect and a light step, but with a heart 
like lead in his breast, Roy walked on with the officer. 

That the circumstantial evidence of the violin and 
Dod’s contradictory statements had fully implicated 
him in the terrible crime of the night before, he could 
not doubt. And now, if he appeared before the select- 
men, he must either tell the truth and criminate his 
companions, which he deemed a dishonorable and 
cowardly act, or attempt to evade the truth with per- 
haps as poor success as Dod seemed to have had. 

What should he do ? He had but a moment to con- 
sider. 

“ Moke’s mother is going to give me something to 
put on my burnt hand,” he said, calmly enough, but 
with pale and nervous lips. “ Can you wait a minute 
at the door? ” 

“ I can go in with you and wait,” Drollers replied. 

This was the first Meredith had heard of his moth- 
er’s benevolent intention. But he and Roy had been 
in too many scrapes together not to understand each 
other now. 

“ Of course,” he said to the officer, “ that will be 


TO CALL ON THE SELECTMEN. 


41 


more comfortable than freezing your stumps on the 
door-step. Though it won’t take her but about a 
second and a half,” nudging Roy. “ She’s got the 
poultice all ready.” 

They turned into a little court, at the end of which 
was the parsonage. Meredith conducted Roy and the 
constable through a neat cottage door, into a small 
sitting-room, where he offered them chairs, saying he 
believed his mother was in the kitchen. 

Drollers sat down, but Roy hesitated, and said : — 

“ Hadn’t I better go right to the kitchen and find 
her ? It will save time and trouble.” 

“ All right,” said the son of the house, and led the 
way, closing doors behind them. 

They passed quickly through the kitchen, not stop- 
ping till they reached the woodshed. Then Roy’s 
suppressed excitement broke forth. 

“ Moke, it won’t do for me to appear before the 
selectmen. I shall be arrested or held as a witness, 
sure. Keep Drollers waiting as long as you can ; then 
tell him I suddenly remembered an engagement.” 

“ What ! you — ” Moke began to stammer. 

“ Yes, I’m off ; good-bye ! ” 

And Roy, running from the shed, crossed the gar- 
den, leaped the fence, and disappeared down the long 
slope of a snowy field. 


42 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER VI. 

EYETEETH ALCOTT MEASURES HEADS WITH THE CHAIRMAN 
OF THE BOARD OF SELECTMEN. 

M ILES HOCUM, village store-keeper and post- 
master, was also chairman of the board of se- 
lectmen, — that august body which governed the af- 
fairs of our little New-England town. 

The board held its meetings in Hocum’s back 
room; and here three of the five members were as- 
sembled, that morning, when Alcott, the grocer, 
father of Dod, came over, at Hocum’s request, in great 
haste and astonishment, bringing his son. 

Hocum and Alcott were not very good friends, — a 
certain class of groceries being also in Hocum’s line, — 
and Alcott had taken the request as a sort of insult. 
Drollers, who conveyed it, was a steady patron of the 
grocery, where he smoked more pipes and drank more 
beer than, seemed altogether becoming in a public 
officer ; and he had let fall a friendly word regarding 
the matter in hand. 

“Mr. Ho-co-co-hocum,’ , began Alcott, — he was 
a short, fiery-faced person, who talked fast and stam- 
mered when excited, — “ what’s this you want of my 
b-b-b-boy?” 


EYETEETH ALCOTT MEASURES HEADS. 43 

Hocum — a tall, gaunt, dry man, with a face like 
the bark of a tree, which wrinkled into a conciliatory 
smile, showing a hard, dry mouth and some scraggy 
front teeth — answered with extreme mildness of 
manner : — 

“ Take a seat, Mr. Alcott. We hardly know yet 
what we do want of your boy ; but we hoped he 
might be able to tell us something about last night’s 
fire.” 

“ He — he don’ know nothin’ about the f-f-f-fire ! ” 
spluttered the father. “ D-d-d-do ye, bub?” 

“ No,” said bub, with a scared and sullen look, 
hanging back toward the door. 

“We rather think he can give us a little help in 
looking into some things,” Miles Hocum replied, with 
his most open smile and harmless drawl. “ We’d like 
to have you stand here at the end of the table, 
George, and answer just a few questions, if you will.” 

“I don’ know nothin’ about it,” protested Dod. 

“ In that case, you won’t have much to tell, and we 
sha’n’t keep you long. I suppose you want to be out 
to play, don’t ye? ’long with the rest of the boys. I 
don’t blame ye. I was once a boy myself. Stand a 
little further this way, if you just as lives.” 

The chairman of the board was so very kind and 
persuasive, that the elder Alcott began to cool down 
a little, and the younger to take courage, thinking he 
would be out again in about five minutes. 

“ Thank you, George,” said Hocum, as the boy 
sidled to the place assigned him. “We’ve always 


44 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


been pretty good friends, haven’t we, George ? And 
always will be, I hope. I like boys that tell the 
truth.” 

Then the scraggy teeth, still assisting at the genial 
smile which was gradually thawing the youngster, 
turned to the constable. 

“ Mr. Drollers, I’ll thank you to stand by the door 
and prevent anybody else from coming in just now. 
I’d like our talk to be ruther private, for I think 
George is going to be pretty confidential, ain’t ye, 
George ?” And, without waiting for a reply, “ Yes, 
I thought so ; George and I always get along well 
together.” 

The chief magistrate of the village — the chairman 
of the board of selectmen is a sort of mayor on a small 
scale — had never given poor Dod six words in his 
life before, except to reprimand him for coasting on 
the sidewalk, or for playing hockey in front of his 
store ; and, as for winning smiles, Dod had usually 
found them about as plenty on the dry bark of that 
wrinkled countenance as daisies in December. But 
now the amiable Hocum’s manner was such as al- 
most to persuade him that he and Miles had been on 
intimate terms for ten or a dozen years, at the lowest 
calculation. 

Dod had expected to be asked direct questions by a 
terrible voice, backed up by a dreadful frown, and he 
had his answers ready. But how strangely he had 
been deceived ! Miles Hocum’s next remark was as 
pleasant and harmless as those which had gone before. 


EYETEETH ALCOTT MEASURES HEADS. 


45 


44 Let me see — how old are you, George ? ” 

“ Fifteen next March,” answered the father, 
promptly, standing beside the son. 

The scraggy teeth lifted in the speaker’s direction, 
and Miles Hocum smilingly said : — 

44 If you please, I prefer that the boy himself should 
answer my questions. You’d better sit down, Mr. 
Alcott.” 

And Mr. Alcott finally sat down. 

44 I’ve heard you are a pretty shrewd boy, George,” 
added Miles ; and you wouldn’t have believed till you 
saw it, that the aforesaid bark could twist itself into 
so curious and amusing a pucker. 

Dod felt himself flattered, and made his first spon- 
taneous answer, 44 Hev ye?” at the same time sniffing 
and grinning. 

44 I’ve heard you called Eyeteeth Alcott. Is that 
because you are so smart ? ” 

44 Ya-a-as.” And Dod grinned and sniffed again, 
and used his sleeve. 

44 You’re just the boy we want,” said Miles Hocum, 
patting him on the shoulder, — 44 a boy that’s got his 
eyeteeth all cut, and knows a thing or two. I believe 
you was at the fire last night ? ” 

44 Yaas,” replied Dod, beginning to close his shell. 

44 And saw as much of what was going on as any 
boy or man on the spot, I warrant. George, I want 
to know what you think of our present engine com- 
pany. Speak out ; don’t be afraid.” 

Thereupon the silly bivalve opened again. 


46 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ I think it’s fust-rate.” 

“ Do you really think it’s as good as either of the 
other companies that were here last night ? ” 

“ I d’n know but what ’tis.” And Dod, still on a 
broad grin, put down his eyebrows, and pushed up 
his lip, and sniffed once more — a long and strong 
sniff, as if he were taking in sagacity through his 
moist nostrils. 

“ You run with our engine sometimes, don’t you ? ” 

“ Sometimes.” 

“ And know as much about it, probably, as any of 
the boys.” 

“ I guess so.” 

Mr. Alcott fidgeted, not seeing just what these 
trivial questions and answers were leading to, and 
being anxious to get back to his business. Perhaps 
he did not place quite so high an estimate on Dod’s 
opinions as Dod himself was beginning to think they 
deserved. 

“Mr. Ho-co-co-hocum, why don’t you come to the 
p-p-p-pint ? ” 

“ If you will allow me to come to it in my own 
way, we shall reach the pint , Mr. Alcott, quite as 
soon as we shall be apt to if we are interrupted. We 
thought it well that you should be present at this 
interview ; but, if your business is pressing, we’ll try 
to git along without you, and treat George ” — Miles 
laid a protecting hand on George’s shoulder, and 
added with a smile, — “ just as well as if you were 
present.” 


EYETEETH ALCOTT MEASURES HEADS. 


47 


Alcott pulled out a big silver watch and looked at 
it impatiently, but settled back in his chair again. 

“ George, how long after the alarm was given last 
night do you think it was before our engine was out ? ” 

44 Not very long.” 

“ Twenty minutes? ” 

44 Not so long as that.” 

44 A minute ? ” 

44 Longer, I guess.” 

44 Three minutes ? ” 

44 May be about that.” And the lip went up, and 
the brows went down, while the nose sniffed. 

44 1 suppose a smart boy like you gits to the engine- 
house about as soon as anybody? Was you on time 
last night?” 

44 1 got there ’bout as soon as the doors was open, I 
guess.” 

44 Did you have your sled or any thing with you ? ” 

44 No, sir.” 

44 Nothing in your hands ? ” 

44 No, sir.” 

44 You didn’t take any thing out of your father’s 
grocery ? ” 

44 1 didn’t come out of the grocery ; grocery was 
shet up.” 

44 Where was you when the alarm was given ? ” 

44 1 was to home,” said George, all innocence. 

44 Abed, I suppose ? ” 

44 No, I hadn’t gone to bed ; I was jest goin’ to bed.” 

44 In the house, then ? ” 


48 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ No, I wasn’t exac’ly in the house.” Dod glanced 
uneasily at his father. “ I was jest goin’ into the 
house.” 

“ Been out to play, I suppose ? ” 

“ I’d been out some o’ the time.” 

“ Do you remember where you’d been ? ” 

“ Around our grocery, and oyer to the tavern, and 
down to the stable, and around.” 

“ Who was with ye?” 

“ Oh, the fellers.” 

“What fellers? Name some of ’em, George.” 

“ I don’t remember, pa’tic’lar. Fire alarm put 
B^ery thing else out of my head.” And George 
grinned, having got in one of his cunningly prepared 
answers. 

“Yes, it was pretty exciting, I suppose,” said the 
amiable selectman. “ But you can recollect one or 
two of the boys you was with, at least. Was Mr. 
Little’s son one ? ” 

“ Herky Little ? I don’t remember ; he might ’a’ 
been.” 

“ Did you see him last evening any where before 
the fire ? ” 

“ I might ’a’, but I ain’t sure.” 

“ Did you see William Jeffreys? ” 

As William Jeffreys was not one of those engaged 
in setting the fire, Dod remembered very well having 
seen him. 

“ Did you see the Twombly boy? ” 

“I believe I seen him to the stables — perty sure I 
did.” 


EYETEETH ALUOTT MEASURES HEADS. 49 

“Did he go any where else with you?” 

“ I don’t remember ; he might ’a’ been round.” 

“ Was any body with you when you heard the 
alarm ? ” 

“ No,” said George, squarely. 

“Did you go straight up the street to the engine- 
house, or go first to take a look at the fire ? ” 

Here again Dod was ready with an answer designed 
to meet all points in the case. 

“ I seen the fire over the meetin’-house sheds, and 
jest scud acrost to see what was burnin’, and then 
went on up the street.” 

“ Didn’t stop?” 

“No, sir,” emphasized with a prodigious sniff. 

“Didn’t go into the sheds?” 

“ No : I cut ’tween the sheds and the meetin’-house, 
and come out t’other side.” 

“ Did you see anybody about there at the time ? ” 

“ Some fellers was ahead of me, and some was 
a-runnin’ behind, but I didn’t see who they was. We 
was all runnin’ and yellin’ fire.” 

“ Had the fire got much of a start then?” 

“ It seemed to be perty well under way in the barn ; 
it was shinin’ through the cracks, and bustin’ out of 
a winder.” 

“ What firemen were at the engine-house when you 
got there ? ” 

Dod named three or four, and others who arrived 
immediately after, and told how the engine was 
started out. 

4 


50 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


44 What boys were there ? ” 

Dod couldn’t possibly remember. 

« Isn’t it rather strange, George,” said Miles Hocum, 
with his blandest expression, 44 that your memory 
should be so clear with regard to the firemen and the 
engine, and shut down so sudden when I ask ye about 
the boys? ” 

44 ’Twas the engine and the firemen I was thinkin’ 
most about ; I didn’t care for the boys, ’ said cunning 

Dod. 

44 That’s natural;” and Miles, baffled in his investi- 
gation in one direction, came round upon another track, 
which he had purposely left open. 44 About how 
fur is it, George, from your house to the engine- 
house? ” 

44 1 d’n’know ; a perty good piece.” 

44 Quarter of a mile ? ” 

44 Nigher half a mile ; it’s over a quarter of a mile 
to the meetin’-house.” 

44 And do you re’ly think, George, that you ran 
more than half a mile in three minutes, let alone the 
time it took you to pass round between the church 
and the sheds, and inspect the fire?” 

Dod felt dizzy for a moment, and found it necessary 
to take two good sniffs with an interval between, 
before framing his reply. 

44 Might ’a’ been more’n three minutes.” 

44 Do you think you could do it in four minutes ? ” 

44 1 wan’t quite home when I heard the alarm.” 

44 Ah ! You were not just going into the house, 
then. You must have been up nearer the church.” 


EYETEETH ALCOTT MEASURES HEADS. 


51 


44 Guess I was, come to think.” 

The elder Alcott fidgeted, and pulled out his watch 
again. 

44 1 don’t see but what the boy makes a purty 
straight story. Can’t expect him to remember every 
thing. What ye tryin’ to co-co-come at ? ” 

44 That will appear all in good time, friend Alcott, 
if you will have the kindness not to interrupt us. 
Don’t you think you must have been quite near the 
church, George, to have got to the engine-house, so 
soon after the alarm ? ” 

44 1 was down street a little ways,” Dod insisted. 

44 Did you see Roydon Rockwood on your way ? ” 

44 Not to know him ; there was fellers runnin’.” 

44 Did you see him at all last night ?” 

44 1 seen him to the fire. He was on the ruf of the 
barn.” 

44 Did you speak with him there ? ” 

44 1 don’t remember. Guess I did.” 

44 Had you spoken with him before that?” 

44 Don’t think I had.” 

44 Now, George, I want you to remember if you can, 
the talk you had with Roy on the roof.” 

Dod sniffed hard, but couldn’t remember a word 
of it. His hands played with the ends of his red 
tippet, and he looked listlessly about the room, as if 
the interview were growing monotonous. 

Miles brought him up with a sharp question. 

44 Was it any thing about a fiddle ? ” 


52 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER VII. 


THE SELECTMAN’S HEAD PROVES THE LONGER OF THE TWO. 



DREADFUL gulf seemed to open suddenly 


ii under Dod’s feet. He leaned his hands on the 
table, and forgot to sniff. 

The selectman’s manner had, in the meantime, un- 
dergone a change. His smiles had grown harder and 
drier, and more nnamiable, and finally faded into a 
sort of crocodile grin ; and his glassy eyes gleamed. 

“ I don’t jest remember,” gasped poor Dod, when 
the last question was repeated. 

“ I can’t force you to remember,” said Miles Ho- 
cum ; “ and you are not obliged to answer my ques- 
tions. But I hoped you might be able to, so that you 
wouldn’t have to be arrested and taken before a 
justice.” 

“ Arrested?” cried the elder Alcott, springing from 
his chair. “ My b-b-b-boy taken before a j-j-j-justice ! ” 

“ There are circumstances which will render that 
step necessary, if he don’t choose to make a private 
explanation here among his friends,” replied the 
selectman. “ I’ve done my best to make it easy for 


him.” 


THE SELECTMAN’S HEAD THE LONGER. 53 

“ He’ll answer. Answer Mr. Ho-co-co-hocum ! ” 

“ I will if I can,” whimpered Dod, as his father 
shook him rudely by the shoulder. 

“ Well, George, please tell me what you were look- 
ing for under the shed a little while before you went 
up to Roy on the roof.” 

“ Wan’t lookin’ for nothin’, not as I remember ! ” 

“ Then what did you mean, when you were heard 
to say to the Twombly boy, 4 Where in thunder is that 
fiddle?’” 

Dod felt as if those proverbial eyeteeth of his were 
being pulled. He sniffed, and twisted his tippet, and 
finally — thinking it was not, after all, his fiddle — • 
made answer : — 

“ I wanted to know where it was, but I hadn’t been 
lookin’ for’t.” 

“ You were looking for something else, then. I 
understand. But you knew it was Roy’s fiddle ? ” 

“ I didn’t know, but I thought it was.” 

“ What made you think so, if you had had no talk 
with him ? ” 

“ I did talk with him on the ruf.” 

“ About the fiddle ? ” 

“ I believe something was said about the fiddle.” 

“ And you told him it was gone ? ” 

“ I s’pose I did.” 

“ Now, George, what is there in all that to make 
you so reluctant to tell the simple truth about it?” 

Dod hung his head. 

“ And now, if you had had no previous talk with 


54 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


Roy, how did you know his fiddle was under the shed?” 

“ I seen him put somethin’ up there — I thought it 
was a fiddle.” 

“ What made you think so?” 

“ It had a cloth over it ; but it was shaped like a 
fiddle.” 

“ When did you see him put it theie ?” 

“ I d’n know — some time after the fire broke out.” 

“ Think again. Roy was at the engine-house, I am 
told, among the very first. He ran with the engine, 
and he had no fiddle then. So he must have placed 
it under the shed before he went to the engine-house. 
In fact, that is what he said. He made inquiries after 
the fire, and said that he was on his way home from 
Matthew Bemis’s, where he had been to practice, 
when, seeing a fire in Mr. Morey’s old barn, he placed 
his fiddle on a brace under the shed, and ran to give 
the alarm, and help with the engine.” 

“ I believe that was the way of it,” said Dod, and 
wondered why he hadn’t told so much of the truth in 
the first place. 

“ Then, if you saw him place his fiddle there, it 
must have b6en when you ran between the church 
and the sheds, to see where the fire was.” 

“ I guess it was, now I think on’t.” 

“ But you said before, that you saw no boy that you 
recognized. Now it appears that you not only saw 
Roy, and knew him, but took notice of the thing he 
put up under the shed, that it was in a cloth cover, 
and was shaped like a fiddle.” 


THE SELECTMAN’S HEAD THE LONGER. 55 

The cunning one could only twist his tippet, and 
look wildly around. His father came to the rescue. 

“Mr. Ho-co-co-ho-co-cum, you’re tanglin’ the boy 
all up.” 

He’s tangling himself up,” Mr. Hocum mildly re- 
plied. “But perhaps he can untangle himself yet by 
making true answers to my questions. Did you hide 
your bottle in the shed, George, before or after Roy 
placed his fiddle there ? ” 

Dod turned faint, and leaned on the table again, his 
face showing a pale sea-green through its archipelago 
of freckles. The cunning one was surprised into 
telling the truth for once. 

“ ’Twas about the same time, I guess.” 

The selectman made a sign to one of his associates, 
who took from a closet behind him a black pint bottle, 
and placed it on the table. 

And now Miles Hocum must have his little joke. 

“ This is the pint we’ve been coming to all this 
time, Mr. Alcott, and now we’ve got to it. Is this 
the bottle, George ? ” 

“ Looks like it,” gasped George, with white lips. 

“ May be your father would like to know where 
you got it : I ain’t so particular about it,” said Miles, 
blandly. 

The elder Alcott looked red and volcanic, as he 
held the bottle a moment, then set it down on the 
table again with a thump. 

“ Did you get it out of your father’s grocery on 
your way to the fire 9 ” 


56 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


u No; grocery was shet up then.” 

“ Ah, yes, I remember. You had taken it before, 
and had it with you when you went to the fire.” 

“ I had it with me, but didn’t want to be bothered 
with it, so I put it up under the shed jest as Roy did 
his fiddle.” 

Dod seemed to think he had made a good point 
here, and brightened a trifle. 

“ But you said before that } r ou had nothing with 
you at all,” Miles reminded him. 

“You asked about my sled. I said I had no sled.” 

“ Mr. Paris, let’s hear just what he did say.” 

Mr. Paris was the other of Mr. Hocum’s associates 
in office then present, and a very solemn one. He 
had been busily writing all the time ; and it now ap- 
peared that he had got Dod’s answers all in black and 
white. 

Mr. Paris read : — 

“ Question . 4 Did you have your sled or any thing 
with you ? ’ 

“ Answer . ‘No, sir.’ 

“ Question . ‘ Nothing in your hands? ’ 

“ Answer. ‘No, sir.” 

Dod saw a loop-hole to creep out, and crept out of it. 

“ Wal, I didn’t have it in my hand ; I had it in my 
pocket.” 

And he showed how he had carried the bottle but- 
toned under his coat. 

“ How many times did Roy drink out of your bot- 
tle?” 


THE SELECTMAN’S HEAD THE LONGEB. 57 

“Not morn’n once, I guess.” 

“ What other boys drinked out of it ? ” 

“ I d’n know as any.” 

“ It’s nearly empty, you see,” said Miles Hocum. 
“ 1 don’t suppose you took the trouble to carry an 
empty bottle with you ; and you and Roy couldn’t 
have drinked a pint of whisky between you.” 

“ ’Twan’t all whisky ; ’twas about half water, with 
sugar in it.” 

“ I’m glad you boys had the good taste to put wa- 
ter and sugar into your grog, George. Did you give 
the Twombly boy a drink ?” 

“ I might ’a’ — don’t remember.” 

“ Did he drink before or after Roy ? ” 

“ Before, I guess, if he drinked at all.” 

“ I suppose it was when you met Roy at the shed 
that you offered him a drink ? ” 

“ I believe it was.” 

“ But you was running to the fire ; and you said 
you didn’t go into the sheds at all. How about that, 
Mr. Paris? ” 

Solemn Mr. Paris turned over the pages of his 
notes, and confirmed Mr. Hocum’s recollection. 

“ I must a-forgot.” 

“ But, George, you was at the engine-house about 
as soon as anybody. You could hardly have had 
time to stop at the sheds on your way, offer whisky 
to the boys, put up your bottle, and make this dis- 
tance in three, or four, or even five minutes. Try 
And remember : don’t you think you and Roy hap- 


58 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


pened to meet there, and you gave him a taste before 
the alarm?” 

Dod stammered both yes and no to this question, 
and finally couldn’t remember at all. 

“You co-co-co-confuse the boy so! ” ejaculated the 
father, thrown into a violent perspiration by these 
late developments. 

“I’ve tried not to confuse him,” smiled the select- 
man. “ I’ve tried to encourage him to tell a truth- 
ful stcry. I’m afraid now we shall have to send for 
some of the other boys to help him out. Mr. Dr oilers, 
I wonder if you can find Ro} r Rockwood. Please 
ask him to come in and have a little talk with us.” 

Drollers went out, pushing his way through a 
crowd collected in the store ; for Dod’s presence in 
the selectman’s room, and the mystery of the closed 
doors, together with vague rumors of circumstantial 
evidence likely to lead to the detection of the culprits, 
had already stirred up an intense excitement in the 
village. 

T wo or three persons attempted to slip through the 
door, but a selectman pushed them back and locked 
them out. 

“ Now, George,” said Miles Hocum, “ to save time, 
while we’re waiting for others to explain what you 
can’t, please tell us about the hay found under the 
shed near where the bottle and fiddle were.” 

Dod made haste to say, — 

“ ’Twas there when I fust went into the shed last 
night.” 


THE SELECTMANS HEAT) THE LONGER. 59 

“ True ? ” 

Dod was very sure : he didn’t mean that the sus- 
picion of carrying the hay there should rest upon 
him. 

44 Singular,” said Mr. Hocum, with his crocodile 
smile. 44 You was in a tremenjous hurry to run to the 
fire. The excitement of the alarm put every thing 
else out of your head, so that you can’t even remem- 
ber what boys had been with you late in the evening. 
And yet you took time to notice a little litter of hay 
in a dark corner ; and you remember it well. Now 
look me in the face, George. Why do you turn 
away ? ” 

44 Cos your breath is bad ! ” was the lad’s desperate 
answer. 

It was not so lame an explanation, either, as some 
he had been making ; "the scraggy teeth being in no- 
toriously bad odor with everybody who was on speak- 
ing terms with their owner. It was even reported 
that a respectable citizen had declined to serve on the 
board with Hocum, until the latter should have 
opened an account with the dentist. 

For the first time during the examination, Mr. 
Paris smiled and Mr. Hocum didn’t. 

Dod perceived that he had made a hit ; and down 
went the brows and up went the lip, with a sniff of 
returning confidence. 

44 Well, George,” said Mr. Hocum, studying great 
moderation and gentleness in his drawl, and smiling 
again, after a pause. 44 1 have had my eyeteeth cut 


60 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


a little longer than you have, and it’s no wonder if 
they’re beginning to decay. I am sorry you find my 
breath offensive. And now, if you will be so kind as 
to use your handkerchief, and snuff less, I will try to 
keep my mouth shut a little more ; so I hope we may 
be mutually a little more agreeable to each other.” 

“ Hain’t got no handkerchief,” said Dod, feeling 
himself crushed again. 

Upon which the elder Alcott began to pull one 
from his pocket — a flaming red silk, redder even than 
his face, and large enough for a family handkerchief. 

“ Here! B-b-b-blow your nose, bub.” 

Miles was questioning Dod again with regard to the 
mysterious circumstance of the hay, without arriving 
at any very satisfactory results, when Drollers re- 
turned, in great heat, and reported that Roy had given 
him the slip. 

“ He promised to come, plausible as could be,” said 
the indignant officer ; “ but he wanted me to wait for 
him a minute at the minister’s, while Mrs. Meredith 
put a poultice on his hand. And there I sot and sot, 
till bimeby I smelt a rat, and went out into the 
kitchen ; and there was Mrs. Meredith, and she didn’t 
know nothing about no poultice ; and Roy was gone.” 

“The thing is growing perty serious,” remarked 
the selectman, in his dry, mild way. “ We’ll have in 
the Twombly boy next, and see what he knows about 
the hay and the fire. Meanwhile, I am sorry to say, 
Mr. Alcott, we shall have to have your boy placed 
under arrest.” 


THE SELECTMAN’S READ THE LONGER. 61 

“Mr. Ho-co-co-hocum ! ” exploded the volcanic 
parent, springing to his feet, “ after } r our p-p-p -prom- 
ise I” 

“ I made no promise ; but I hoped the boy’s expla- 
nations would be so satisfactory that this step might 
not be necessary. His answers have been very unsat- 
isfactory ; and we shall be obliged to use an instru- 
ment with which I believe Mr. Drollers is provided.” 

The instrument was a justice’s warrant for Dod’s 
arrest, which Drollers had been carrying in his 
pocket all this time, awaiting the selectman’s motions. 
How many more such instruments he carried, for the 
apprehension of other offenders, could only be guessed 
by the terror-stricken Dod. 

Dod was now quite broken down. He whimpered, 
while his father stormed. But nothing could move 
the gentle Miles Hocum ; and even the friendly Drol- 
lers had to do his duty. 

Dod was taken out ; and Tommy Twombly was 
brought in. 


62 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


ROY DECLINES TO MEASURE HEADS WITH ANYBODY, BUT TAKES 
HIS OWN OUT OF THE WAY. 



HE escape of Roy, under such circumstances, 


-JL was the town talk in an hour ; and it carried 
grief and consternation to the hearts of his friends. 

All day he was not heard from; but, late in the 
evening, as the family sat talking of this last strange 
act of his, suddenly the door opened, and in he 
stepped. 

All eyes turned to him, of course ; but not a word 
of greeting. There was a dead silence for a moment. 
Mabel bent her flushed face over the worsted she was 
working. 

Mrs. Rockwood, a nervous, dark little woman, still 
pretty, compressed her lips, and looked away. 

The good doctor alone kept his eyes fixed kindly 
and inquiringly on his nephew. 

“Well!” said Roy, with an attempt at careless 
gayety which was not a perfect success, “ I should 
think I had come to my own funeral. Don’t let me 
interrupt the solemnity.” 

“ Your funeral could hardly be a sadder occasion to 


ROY TAKES HIS HEAD OUT OF THE WAY. 63 

us, if the things we hear about you are true/’ said the 
doctor. “ To bury our hopes of you at last is worse 
than burying your body, Roy.” 

“So! it’s the funeral of your hopes of me, is it?” 
said Roy, his countenance changing, and his voice 
sinking. “ Do you feel that way? Do you, Mabel? ” 

A flash of her eyes, full of intense meaning, was the 
only reply. 

“ Can you wonder if we do?” said Mrs. Rockwood, 
taking a pinch of snuff with her delicate fingers, her 
face still turned away from him. “ Would your own 
father have borne more from you than your uncle here 
has?” 

“ No, Aunt Dolly,” Roy answered, with a gush of 
feeling ; “ nor my own mother more than you have.” 

The delicate fingers trembled. 

“ Roy,” said Mrs. Rockwood, almost sharply, “have 
you had any supper? ” 

“ Never mind about any supper for me,” he replied, 
huskily. “ I’m a weak, good-for-nothing, miserable 
wretch, that don’t deserve another favor, or a single 
kind look from one of you.” 

Yet his eyes silently besought Mabel for one such 
look. She kept her face still bowed over her worsted, 
and did not give it. 

As no one replied, he went on, thinking he would 
say something to touch her. 

“ Perhaps I shall never eat supper again in this 
house.” 

“ Don’t talk like that, Roy,” said his uncle. 


64 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ I mean it !” said Roy, desperately. 

“Well, then,” replied the doctor, calmly, but with 
an undertone of feeling, “ tell us what you have done 
to drive you away from a home, where you have 
always been well treated ; for it’s certainly nothing 
we have done.” 

“ I’ve done what I’m to blame for, but not so much 
to blame as people will think,” said Roy. “ I had 
nothing to do with setting the fire last night, and 
yet I don’t expect to make anybody believe it.” 

“ It may be hard now, since you ran away from 
Mr. Drollers in the way you did. But, if you had 
appeared before the selectmen and told the simple 
truth, why shouldn’t it have been believed? If 
their suspicions have been confirmed, you have your 
own conduct to blame.” 

“ I know it. And yet I couldn’t tell the truth. 
For, though I didn’t set the fire, nor help set it, nor 
approve of it, I was accidentily present when it was 
set.” 

“ Very well,” exclaimed the doctor. “ Testify to 
that, and convict the actual culprits ; for of course 
you know who they are.” 

u That’s just it,” said poor Roy. “ I am in honor 
hound not to betray them.” 

“ In honor bound to such rascals ! ” repeated the 
doctor, with rising anger. “ Then you will be re- 
garded as one with them.” 

“ I suppose so. But I can’t help it. I might have 
prevented the mischief, and didn’t ; and to turn 


BOY TAKES HIS HEAD OUT OF THE WAY. 65 

against them now, — when I was trusted not to tell 
of them, if I didn’t assist, — that I shall never do. I 
am not so base.” 

Roy had sat down ; and now the doctor, usually so 
calm, rose, and walked the room in great agitation. 

Roy looked, and saw Mabel’s eyes fixed upon him, 
as if they would pierce him through. 

“I’ve just a word to say, Roy,” began the doctor, 
leaning upon the back of a chair. “ I’ve tried to do 
my duty by you since your father died,” — the good 
man’s voice trembled, and his features worked con- 
vulsively a moment, — “ and I shall try to do it still. 
But things have reached a pass where forbearance 
becomes a weakness rather than a virtue. This gang 
of night- prowlers and marauders is to be crushed out. 
I’ll give what I have, even to my right hand, to see it 
broken up, and the ringleaders punished to the extent 
of the law. All good citizens are with me in this. 
Now, are you with us or against us ? ” 

“ I’m not against you. But I can’t tell.” 

“ Then you countenanced the crime.” 

“ Crime, Uncle Jason ! ” 

“ Crime,” sternly repeated the doctor. “ It’s a 
state-prison offence, as you know. But, if your com- 
plicity was accidental, your course is clear, and I 
will make it safe for you. What we want is the ring- 
leaders. Give evidence against them, make a clean 
breast of it, and you will be let off. Side with them, 
and you will be treated like them. I can’t shield you, 
and I wouldn’t if I could. I suppose you know a 


66 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


warrant has been issued for your apprehension?” 

44 I guessed as much.” 

Hesitating between his sense of duty to society and 
himself, and what he deemed his honor pledged to his 
companions, Roy felt his heart crushed between two 
millstones. 

“ Go to Mr. Hocum, and tell what you know, and 
that warrant will not be served ; I have his word foi 
it,” continued the doctor. “ But no half-way work, 
no prevarication, will answer.” 

44 I know it ; and for that reason I preferred not to 
go with Mr. Drollers to-day,” said Roy. 

44 You’ve no time to lose, either. Go this very even- 
ing,” the doctor insisted. 

4 4 1 must have till to-morrow to think of it,” faltered 
Roy ; and a wild thought flashed through his brain, 
that he would kill himself in the meantime. 

The doctor was called into his study to see a patient. 

44 Mabel,” said Mrs. Rockwood, 44 take Roy to the 
kitchen, and see what you can find for his supper.” 

Mabel quietly laid down her worsted, and went out. 
Roy did not follow at first, but sat sullenly nursing 
his dark thoughts, in the chair where his uncle’s last 
stern words had left him. 

44 Roy, come here,” said his aunt, in a quick, nerv- 
ous way. He went, and stood by her chair, flushed 
and sulky. 44 You look as if some of us had injured 
you. Have you been wronged by anybody in this 
house? ” 

“ By nobody but myself,” 


ROY TAKES HIS HEAD OUT OF THE WAY. 67 

“I’m glad you think so. I’m not going to lecture 
you, Roy.” The little fingers carried up a pinch of 
snuff again. “ You know better than anybody that 
you’ve been a bad boy. Now take your uncle’s ad- 
vice. He is your best friend. We all like you, Roy, 
spite of every thing. I do — I always shall. The 
more’s the pity that you can’t — well, you know.” 
And the little woman brushed away a tear. “ Now 
go, and eat your supper.” 

“ Aunt Dolly,” said Roy, in a thick voice, “ I shall 
always be grateful to you. Whatever happens, I shall 
always remember your kindness.” 

He stooped, and kissed her forehead, and went out. 
He did not know that he left her weeping. 

“ There’s your supper, Master Roy,” said Mabel, 
coldly. 

“ Thank you, Miss Mabel.” 

“ Don’t thank me ; thank my mother.” 

“ You wouldn’t have given me any supper?” 

“ I didn’t say that. I would never turn a beggar 
away hungry.” 

“ I am a beggar, am I ? ” 

“ I haven’t called you names.” 

Roy placed himself before her. 

“You don’t believe in me, Mabel.” 

“ Is there any reason why I should?” 

“ No,” said Roy, bitterly, “if you don’t see any.” 

“ I see more than you think I do,” she answered, 
relenting a little toward him. “ You can’t hide. 
Didn’t I know this morning, as well as I do to-night, 


68 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


that yon had something to do with setting that fire ? 
I can read you.” 

“ And yon hate me ? ” 

“ I hate your bad conduct. It seems a great deal 
worse than it would if you didn’t have friends, whose 
patience you are wearing out. Now eat your supper. 
I am going.” 

“ I won’t eat a mouthful unless you sit down with 
me.” 

“ Then you will go hungry.” 

“ Mighty little you care for me,” he said, still de- 
taining her. “You haven’t asked me about my 
hand.” 

“ Why should I care for your hand? You’ve other 
hurts of a good deal more importance. I wish yo% 
cared as much for them as you do for a little blister 
of the skin. Now let me go, Roy.” 

“ You may never see me again after to-night, Ma- 
bel,” he said, darkly, with struggling passion, as he 
stepped aside to let her pass. 

“ I don’t know why I should wish to, unless you 
are different.” 

“ Well, do me a favor.” 

“ Any thing in reason.” 

“Have your father get back my fiddle. It’s in 
Mr. Hocum’s hands. Keep it till I call for it.” 

“ Can’t you get it yourself ? ” 

“ Perhaps not.” 

“ Well, I’ll do so much for you. And you may be 
sure I’ll keep your Christmas gift more carefully than 
you did.” 


ROY TAKES HIS HEAD OUT OF THE WAY. 69 

She was gone. Roy walked up and down the room, 
full of wrath and grief, forming wild schemes and 
angry resolutions. 

His uncle walked in. 

“Do you know who has just been in to see me, 
Roy?” 

“ No, sir.” 

“ Constable Drollers. And he came to arrest you.” 

“ Well, why didn’t he? ” said Roy, with a flash of 
defiance. 

“ Because I dissuaded him. I had hoped you 
would appear voluntarily before Squire Davis to- 
morrow, and give evidence against young Alcott and 
the Twombly boy. They and Mr. Little’s son are all 
in custody, I suppose you know.” 

“ I made no promise to give evidence against any- 
body.” 

“You did not. And I have no more reasons to 
urge. Take the night to think of it, and decide what 
you will do. And. remember, Roy, how much depends 
upon your decision — your whole future happiness, 
Roy.” 

The doctor withdrew. And now Roy changed his 
mind about supper. He ate hurridly and hungrily, 
but thinking all the time intently of something else. 
He afterward retired to his room, and may have slept 
a little, in spite of his many troubles, for he had youth 
and health. 

But, late in the night, — it must have been near 
three o’clock, — when all else was still in the house, 


TO 


BOUND IN HONOK. 


he was up, lighting his lamp, silently dressing himself, 
and packing a few things into a small traveling-bag. 

All this took him but a few minutes. Then he 
wrote half a dozen lines on a piece of paper, and left 
it unfolded on his table. Then he blew out the light, 
and went softly down the stairs, and out of the house, 
and away into the wintry night, with his small earthly 
possessions stuffed into the little bag he carried. 


WHY MABEL OPENED THE BLINDS. 


71 


CHAPTER IX. 

WHY MABEL OPENED THE BLINDS OF HER WINDOW AT THREE 
O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING. 

M ABEL had been a little perverse. She was 
deeply grieved at Roy’s conduct, which seemed 
to her almost unpardonable ; and she had meant to 
show him that he could not presume too much upon her 
good nature. But having punished him with severe 
words and looks, and left him to his solitary supper, 
all her resentment vanished, and she thought of him 
with remorseful pity. 

Pride alone prevented her from going back and com- 
forting him in his trouble. The actual danger he was 
in, which she had hardly realized until told that a 
constable, armed with a warrant for his arrest, had 
just been in the house, quickened her sympathy, and 
filled her with alarm. She hoped he would return to 
the sitting-room, or seek some opportunity of seeing 
her again, and was disappointed when he went off alone 
to his room. 

She was somewhat piqued too. 

“ Does he flatter himself that I am going to put 
myself in his way ? Or doesn’t he care to make up 


72 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


with me ? As if he had done nothing to be forgiven ! ” 

On the way to her own room she passed his door, 
ft was closed. He seemed to have shut his heart 
against her too. 

She lay awake a long while thinking of the darkly 
threatening words which had been wrung from him in 
his despair and misery. Did he really mean them ? 

“ No, he can’t go away from us,” she tried to assure 
herself. “ He has no money to speak of, and no other 
friends. In the morning I will be kind to him, only I 
won’t let him know that these quarrels hurt me as much 
as they do him.” 

So she fell asleep. 

Toward morning, she thought she heard a noise in 
the house. Something had startled her from a not 
very profound slumber, and she listened. 

Silence. A stair creaked. Then silence again. 
Then the sound of a door softly closed. Was it the 
outer door of the house ? Hark ! footsteps on the 
walk ! Slow, stealthy steps at first — now quicker and 
sharper, and now they seemed moving rapidly away. 

Mabel flew to the window, threw it open, and put 
out her head. The old moon, rising late — a ghastly 
fragment of a moon, casting a cold glimmer over the 
wintry scene — shone suddenly upon a frightened 
girl’s face, one little hand pushing back the blind, and 
the other clasping a white night-dress about a white 
throat. 

The stillness without was broken only by those fast 
receding steps. And there, not fifty yards away, was 


WHY MABEL OPENED THE BLINDS. 73 

the only moving thing to be seen — a youthful human 
figure hurrying up the street. 

Mabel never could tell why she did not shriek, 
“ Roy! Roy! come back! ” But for a moment she was 
quite stunned by what she saw ; and, before she could 
command her thoughts or get her voice, he was out 
of sight. 

She remained some moments at the window, strain- 
ing ears and eyes, regardless of the cold. When at 
last the sounds died away, a terrible sense of loneliness 
and dread came over her, and she drew back shivering 
into her chamber. 

“ He cannot have gone for good ! ” she said to her- 
self. “ He must come back ! And may be it wasn’t 
Roy at all.” 

No more sleep for her till she had satisfied herself 
as to that. 

She hastily threw on a morning gown, and glided 
from the room. Had Roy’s door been closed, it is un- 
certain what she would have done. Perhaps she 
would have taken it as a sign that he was there, and 
have returned, re-assured, to her bed. It was his 
habit to sleep with his door closed, and to leave it open 
when he went out. It was open now. 

Alarm nerved her resolution ; she went in ; she 
whispered his name to the hollow walls. She knew 
where his matches were ; she struck one, and lighted 
his lamp. 

There was his empty bed, a few garments scattered 
about, one bureau drawer left open in the hurry of 
flight, and a written paper on his table. 


74 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Mabel bent over it and read : — 

“ Good-by, uncle and aunt. I am going. It 'is all 
my own fault, and you will think me an ungrateful 
wretch, but I see no other way out of my trouble. 
Good-by, Mabel. Roy.” 

Cold in the lamp-light she stood, holding the paper 
with icy fingers that trembled with excitement. 

He was gone, then, and her last words to him had 
been unkind. Perhaps they helped to drive him 
away. 

But he was hardly yet out of the village. Not a 
moment was to be lost. Bearing the lamp in one 
hand and the paper in the other, she hurried to the 
room where her parents slept. 

The good doctor, accustomed to wake at all hours, 
started up on his pillow, and asked what was wanted. 
In a few words she told him what had happened. 

“Foolish boy!” said the doctor, taking the paper 
and looking at it while she held the lamp. “You 
think I ought to harness up and drive after him ? I 
might overtake him and bring him back.” 

“ Oh, do ! ” Mabel pleaded. 

“ Go to your bed,” replied the doctor. “ Leave the 
lamp. I’ll think about it.” 

She returned to her bed-chamber, and listened long 
in vain to hear the horses’ hoofs on the barn floor, 
the jingling sleigh-bells, and the runners starting off 
in the squeaking snow. 

“No,” the doctor said to his wife, who added her 
entreaty to Mabel’s, “I won’t do it. He has chosen 


WHY MABEL OPENED THE BLINDS. 


75 


his own course. A little experience of the world may 
be the best thing for him. He’ll get sick enough of 
it. Poor, foolish boy, I pity him! ” 

So saying, he blew out the light, and turned again 
on his pillow, but not to sleep. 

Little sleep indeed was there in the house for either 
of those three during the rest of the night. 


76 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER X. 

ROY SETS OFF ON A LONG JOURNEY. 

R OY, in the meanwhile, tramped on in the moon- 
light, through the gray waste of snow-clad hills 
and fields bordering the country road. Carrying his 
sachel by a strap passed over his right shoulder and 
under his left, his hands free, his feet cased in stout 
winter boots, he felt himself a soldier of fortune set- 
ting off in light marching order to do battle with fate. 

But was his heart so light ? Proud and passionate 
and courageous thoughts bore it well up at first, — a 
boat on tossing waves. Ah, would youth and hope 
ride ever upon that wild, high sea ! What storms of 
misfortune might we endure, what dangers dare to 
face ! 

Roy thought too little of the pain he was inflicting 
upon those he left behind. He was even willing to 
make Mabel suffer. She should see what a spirit she 
had slighted, what a great and scornful heart she had 
flung away. It might be all the consequence of his 
own wrong doing, — no doubt it was, — but, accus- 
tomed to be petted when he was sulky and forgiven 
when he was in fault,, he felt himself injured now be- 


ROY SETS OFF ON A LONG JOURNEY. 77 


cause tie had not met with the indulgence which he 
had learned to think was his due. Boys are just so 
reasonable. 

Roy knew little of practical life. His good- 
natured uncle had not brought him up to hard work. 
To cut a few kindlings for the kitchen fire, to do a 
few chores about the stable, to hoe a little in the gar- 
den, — these were about all the tasks with which 
those agile hands of his had been made acquainted. 
Yet he was an active and ingenious young fellow, 
and there was no end to the cat and dog carts, pano- 
ramas, velocipedes, toy ships, elder flutes, double- 
runners, squirrel-traps, and bird-cages, with which he 
clattered work-shop and garret. He fancied that life 
out in the world was something like that — gaining a 
subsistance by doing just what one had a mind to. 

His notions of the future he was braving were, 
therefore, rather vague. He was not afraid of hard- 
ships ; and he had heard his uncle say, that labor 
could always be had by those who were able and wil- 
ling to do it. He did not know what sad exceptions 
there were to that general rule. 

He would labor, he would do any thing that came 
to his hand ; and he cherished a secret belief that he 
would strike some vein of good luck, out of which a 
future might be gained. 

In addition to this large capital of foolish ideas, he 
had nine dollars in his pocket. 

He would have preferred the summer time for his 
adventure ; and so dreary seemed the white, frozen 


78 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


world he was traversing, that now and then a terrible 
shadow of doubt would settle upon his heart ; and he 
could not help wishing it might at any time be safe 
for him to turn back. 

“ What a fool and idiot I have been ! A pretty set 
of young blockheads I was with ! Well, this may be 
a good thing for me in one way — it will separate me 
from them in spite of myself. Why didn’t I follow 
my better impulses, and leave them of my own accord? 
What did I really care for such low, miserable fun as 
we had? Fun!” he repeated, aloud, grinding the 
word wrathfully in his teeth. “ It makes me hate 
myself when I think of it ! ” 

Such were his reflections after a walk of seven or 
eight miles had taken off the edge of youthful spirits 
with which he set out. 

The stars paled, and lights in the farm-houses ap- 
peared. The moon grew filmy, and his shadow faded 
in the snow. The east brightened ; low-hanging bars 
of cloud changed to golden stairs and a throne of fire ; 
a pure, soft light suffused the world. 

Tired and hungry as he was, Roy could not help 
feeling something of the exhilaration which God 
meant that the birth of a day should carry to the 
hearts of men. The past is buried in the night. 
With fresh life, with hope and strength renewed, 
comes the beautiful dawn. From that ethereal 
fountain, a subtle and infinite joy overflows. Even 
the wrinkled and hoary face of winter warms into a 
smile. 


ROY SETS OFF ON A LONG JOURNEY. 


79 


Perhaps his very weariness of body favored a cer- 
tain exaltation of the mind, which his vision of the 
sunrise inspired. 

“ This is freedom !” thought he. 

Old habits, old associations, were shaken off. 
Chains were broken. Now, for a new, wild, glad life 
at whatever cost ! No more meanness and folly. 

“ I begin new to-day.’’ 

Ah ! could he also have felt that he was beginning 
right ! 

So on he tramped while the dawn grew to day, and 
the golden stairs and fiery throne were lost in the 
ascending glory. 

And now, with a strange contraction of the heart, 
Roy thought : — 

“ They know by this time. They have seen my 
door open, and read that paper. What do they 
think? What do they say? ” 

He pictured to himself the astonishment of his 
friends at that moment. For he never once suspected 
that Mabel’s quick ear had heard him leave the house, 
and that Mabel’s face had looked from the window in 
the moonlight just as he passed from sight. Had he 
heard the blind open, and looked back and seen that 
face, perhaps his resolution might have failed and hi a 
whole future have been different. 


80 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XI. 

ROY MAKES A LARGE NUMBER OF SMALL ACQUAINTANCES. 

OY now grew anxious about breakfast. Seeing 



a man come out of a barn, carrying a pail, he 
accosted him. 

“ How far is it to a public house V ’ 

44 Little over two miles, straight ahead.” 

The man was crossing from the barn, which was on 
one side of the road, to a farm-house on the other side. 
He looked with some curiosity at Roy, who stepped 
up to him, and said, — 

44 Do you know if I can get a breakfast at this 
house ? ” 

“We’ve been to breakfast,” said the man, “an 
hour’n’ a half ago.” 

Roy had not thought that country people breakfasted 
so early. Noticing that the pail the man carried held 
rich and frothy milk, he added : — 

44 A bite of any thing — a bowl of bread and milk — 
will answer my purpose till I can get to the tavern.” 

44 Wal, walk in,” said the man. 44 I’ll see what the 
women folks say.” 

He showed Roy into a kitchen, from which burst a 


ROY MAKES A NUMBER OF ACQUAINTANCES. 81 

wild jargon of children’s voices as the door opened, 
— laughing, crying, scolding, screaming. 

A sudden hush followed the introduction of a 
stranger ; and in a moment Roy found himself the 
center of a staring group — tow-heads of all heights, 
from the creeping baby on the floor to the girl of 
sixteen washing dishes at a sink. On two or three 
of the little faces that turned to gaze at him, tears of 
recent grief were not yet dry. 

Roy was rather glad that he had not come in time 
to feed with that small menagerie; and he was about to 
excuse himself, and back out of so uninviting a place, 
when the man with the milk-pail said to a woman 
putting wood into a stove, — 

“ This stranger’d like a bite o’ sunthin’ — can ye 
’commodate him, think ? Take a seat and set down, 
stranger.” 

The woman looked at Roy with a scowl of discon- 
tent. 

“ I’ll see. Breakfast things all cleared away. He’ll 
find us in a terrible clutter ; hope he ain’t very par- 
tic’lar.” 

“ Not in the least,” said Roy, finding the comfort of 
a chair by the stove so great after his long tramp, 
that he resolved to stay and risk the breakfast. 

The truth is, he was an extremely “ particular ” 
young man at home, and his experience in Aunt Dolly’s 
neat and orderly household had not fitted him for 
roughing it in over-populated farm-kitchens. 

“ Shall I fry ye a slice o’ pork? ” said the woman, 
consulting his appetite. 6 


82 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


If there was an article of diet which Roy detested 
more than another, it was fried pork. He concealed 
his disgust, however, and smilingly replied that he 
would not put her to so much trouble — that he 
would be satisfied with any thing, if only boiled eggs 
and a glass of milk. 

44 4 Only ! ’ ” the woman’s face said, as she looked 
again at Roy, appearing to wonder where he had lived 
all his life. 44 Eggs is skurce and high this time o’year, 
and it’s jest as easy to fry the pork if you perfer it.” 

Roy, with the happy consciousness of money in his 
pocket, said he rather thought the eggs would relish 
better ; and the man remarked : — 

44 Guess ye may as well bile him a couple. Yaller 
hen’s begun to lay. Eggs was only twenty cents to 
the store yis’day, when I inquired.” 

The woman set a skillet on the stove, poured hot 
water into it from the tea-kettle, and then produced 
the egg-basket. 

Roy had by this time almost ceased to be an object 
of curiosity and awe to the children ; and at sight of 
the eggs their clamor broke forth again. 

“ Bile me a egg, ma ! ” 44 Bile me one ! ” 44 Me, 

too ! me too, ma !” 

And the small army of tow-heads that had besieged 
him so closely, now rushed to a violent attack upon 
the mother, clinging to her gown, getting before her 
feet, and trying to reach the basket which she held 
above their heads. For a few moments, nothing was 
heard but “Egg, egg! bile me ! bile! bile! me too, 
ma ! ma ! ma ! egg ! ” 


ROY MAKES A NUMBER OF ACQUAINTANCES. 83 

It took a vigorous cuff or two at the leaders to repel 
the assault and silence the deafening chorus. 

“ One would think you had never seen a biled egg 
more’n two times in your lives,” she exclaimed, which 
Roy judged could not have been far from the truth. 
“ Out of the way now, or you’ll git somethin’ ’sides 
biled eggs, every one of ye,” 

Roy was glad to see three eggs go into the skillet, 
but not so well pleased when she added : 

“I’ll divide one between ye ; now, don’t lemme 
hear another word out of your heads.” 

“Oh, goody-good!” “I’ll have some!” “I’ll 
take the first bite ! ” “ No, you slia’n’t, I will! ” 

And the little tribe set up a sort of war-dance around 
the skillet of hot water. 

“ Now it begins to bile.” 

“ See the little eyes come up from the bottom, an 
wink ’emselves out.” 

“ That little egg’ll be ourn.” 

“ No, that’s a rooster’s egg. We’ll have the biggest 
one. 

“ O, now don’t it bile, I bet ye ! ” 

“ Hush, every soul of ye ! ” exclaimed the woman. 
And, having again subdued the tumult for a moment, 
she asked Roy whether he would have his eggs “biled 
hard or soft.” 

“Soft,” he replied, thinking he would have his 
breakfast sooner than if he said hard. 

She set one of the larger girls to watch the clock, 
accordingly. 


84 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Soon as ever the pinter gits there,” said she, 
placing her thumb-nail over the dial, “ spring for the 
skimmer, and have out the two big ones quicker.” 

The girl watched the clock, the younger children 
watched the boiling, the oldest at the sink watched 
Roy, casting sheep’s-eyes at him over her dishes, 
while he watched impartially the whole of this inter- 
esting family. 

Suddenly there was a scream louder than the rest. 

“ Quick ! quick ! Out of my way ! ” 

And the girl who had been watching the clock 
made a dive for the skimmer, knocking over two little 
ones, and stepping on one of them in her haste to get 
the eggs out of the skillet. She seemed to think it 
a matter of life and death to stop the boiling the 
instant the pointer reached the spot indicated by the 
maternal thumb-nail. 

Meanwhile, the woman had put up a leaf of the 
kitchen table, and placed upon it a plate, a knife and 
fork, an ample supply of bread and butter, and a 
bowl of milk. 

“ Mebbe you’d like a cup of tea? Can have it as 
well as not,” she said, seizing a tea-pot which had 
been simmering on the stove. 

“ If you please,” said Roy. 

And she poured him a cup of dark fluid, which after- 
ward proved as bitter to taste as it was black to sight. 
If there was any drink Roy detested it was boiled tea. 

The “ rooster’s egg ” was left to cook hard for the 
children, while Roy was invited to “ lay off his outside 


ROY MAKES A NUMBER OF ACQUAINTANCES. 85 

coat and draw up his chair,” by which welcome words 
he understood that his breakfast was ready. 

He was certainly ready to eat it. And it was not 
so bad a breakfast, either, notwithstanding the quality 
of the tea and the fact that the bread was heavy and 
the milk skimmed, the good woman having given him 
a bowl of yesterday’s, and prudently taken off the 
cream. Roy was hungry enough for almost any 
thing ; and it was only in the presence of too much 
company at table that his appetite afterward quailed. 

The “ rooster’s egg ” (it seemed to be a popular 
notion that any very small eggs found in the hens’ 
nests must have been laid by the father of the flock) 
was pronounced “ biled hard enough.” It was cooled 
in a saucer of snow; and one of the younkers was 
commissioned to peel and divide it. 

Never was magistrate more puffed up by a little 
brief authority. It was Alexander the Little parti- 
tioning the world among his followers. 

The boy stood up to his business at the end of the 
table, in the midst of a frightful scrambling and reach- 
ing and screeching, each little share-owner being 
eager to pull off a bit of the shell or touch a finger to 
the smooth, warm, shining sphere. But the Lord 
High Commissioner kept back the vulgar crowd. 

“Here, Dick, you stop! Sammy, quit! Hands 
off, or I’ll punch ye both! You, Sue and Sal, if you 
stick your fingers in agin, ye sha’n’t have a mouthful ! ” 
Mouthful was good, Roy thought, the entire egg 
scarcely meriting so dignified an epithet. “ Now I’m 


86 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


goin’ to slice it, and give you each a piece ; and, if 
any one snatches ’fore I call their names and say, 
‘ Yourn !’ they sha’n’t have none.” 

Then commenced the division. 

“Sue, be on hand! Yourn! ’’and a morsel was 
held out in the fingers of authority. 

“Hah! that ain’t none — for a big girl like me!” 
complained the dissatisfied Sue. 

“ It’s all you’ll git, any way, for it’s got to go 
round ; and, if you don’t take it darned quick, some- 
body else will. Dick, be on hand now! Yourn! 
Sal, look alive! Yourn!” 

There was plenty of snatching before the egg was 
eaten : those who thought their shares too small en- 
deavored to right their wrongs by seizing upon frag- 
ments on the way to mouths to which fortune seemed 
to have been more partial. In a few minutes, hands 
and faces — I had almost said paws and muzzles — 
were smeared and streaked with the mashed white 
and yolk, very little of which could have reached the 
palate, Roy fancied, since so much went for mere or- 
namental purposes. 

In the meantime, the jargon beat all that he had 
heard before. 

He remembered his quiet breakfasts at home, and 
began to be sick of his adventure. Was this the fine, 
free world he had set out to brave? 

Weary as he was, he would have been glad to sit 
a little while by the kitchen fire ; but he couldn’t 
stand the clamor. 


ROY MAKES A NUMBER OF ACQUAINTANCES. 87 

The farmer, who had gone out again after bringing 
tn the pail of milk, now returned, and seemed inclined 
to be sociable with his guest. He wanted to know 
if he was “ travelin’ fur,” and how long “ sence he 
left hum,” to which questions he received vague re- 
plies. 

At last, Roy cut short the conversation by asking 
how much he was to pay for his entertainment. 

“ I d’n’ know,” said the man ; “ don’t often get 
breakfast for strangers. What do ye think, ma?” 

The worthy pair consulted together a moment. 
The sight of Roy’s pocket-book had occasioned a lull 
in the children’s racket ; and he could hear, “ Twenty 
or thirty cents, somewhere along there,” — “ Wal, say 
a quarter,” — whispered from the corner by the cup* 
board, where the parents stood. 

“ Guess about a quarter,” said the man, turning 
again to his guest. 

Roy did not think a quarter w T as enough ; and he 
handed the man half a dollar, saying, — 

“ Never mind about any change.” 

The man took it, looked pleasantly surprised, and 
said, — 

“ Why, this — this is rather too much, ain’t it ? ” 

Roy, putting on his coat, said he did not think so. 
and took his leave. 

“ Rather ’ristocratic young chap, I must say,” re- 
marked the man, as all eyes watched from the win- 
dows to see the stranger depart. 

“He’s the handsomest feller ever I see!” said ths 


88 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


oldest daughter, smiling with undisguised admira^ 
tion. 

“ I hoped you’d git out of him who he is and where 
he’s goin’,” said the mother. 

“ Perty clust he was,” laughed the father. “ I was 
a leetle in doubt about takin’ his money ; but I guess 
he’s got plenty more, — well-dressed young chap like 
him.” 

Haying thus reconciled his conscience to the half- 
dollar, the good man put it into his pocket. 

“ Shouldn’t object to entertainin’ travelers every 
day at that price,” he added, with a smile. “ Hope 
he’ll come back this way.” 

“So do I,” simpered the eldest daughter. 


OUR HERO HELPS A FAMILY TO RIDE. 


89 


CHAPTER XII. 


OUR HERO HELPS A WHOLE FAMILY TO RIDE WHILE HE GOES 


AFOOT. 



OY had walked about two miles farther, when, 


JL X. on the outskirts of a small village, he saw a 
group of men and boys gathered around some object 
by the roadside. There seemed to be a wagon loaded 
with household goods ; and, on joining the group of 
idlers, he saw a dead horse lying before the shafts on 
the snow. 

It was an old, rickety one-horse wagon ; the house- 
hold goods were of the queerest, and the animal ap- 
peared to have been constructed by stretching an old 
horsehide over a hollow framework of bones. How 
so miserable a quadruped had even drawn that wagon 
to that spot was a marvel and a mystery. It seemed 
no wonder at all that the poor beast had fallen dead 
after he got there. 

“ Them chairs and that clumsy bedstead was never 
made in this country,” Roy heard one of the by- 
standers remark. 

“They come from Canady,” said another, “and 
look as if they was brought over from Payris afore 


90 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


the French an’ Ingin war. Might know sich a team 
as that belonged to one o’ them Cannucks,” — a nick- 
name by which French Canadians are known in the 
United States. 

u Every darned Cannuck thinks he must have his 
old crow-bait,” said a third. “ No family is complete 
without one. Here comes the boss of this job now.’ 

A short, swarthy, black-eyed man, with a troubled 
countenance, was approaching from the village. Roy 
approached him, and cried out : — 

4 4 Hallo, Lizard ! This your horse ? ” 

The Canadian’s name was Lassarde, which had easily 
become transformed to Lizard in the mouths of the 
uncouth natives of Bayfield, where Roy had known 
him for some years. 

44 1 s’pose he belong to me. I lef’ your town ; I 
movin’ my family ; I git so fur wen my ’oss ups an’ 
die.” 

44 Where are you going?” Roy inquired. 

44 1 got a place on some brick-yards, t’irty mile from 
here. I been dere all las’ summer. Good many my 
people dere ; we works brick-makin’ summer, an’ 
winter we spec’s big job cuttin’ ice. So I tink I move 
my family, and I git so fur wen my ’oss ups an’ die.” 

44 When did this happen ? ” 

44 Las’ night, ’bout nine o’clock. I t’ought I could 
git though to dis place in one day ; I know family 
here, ware we could stop over night ; it is no more 
twelve, t’irteen mile from your town — not mush more; 
but dat ’oss — I do’no’ wat matter dat ’oss : he wouldn’ 
draw ; an’ wen I git so fur, he ups an’ die.” 


OUR HERO HELPS A FAMILY TO RIDE. 91 

“ Why, Lizard, you’re in a bad fix ! ” 

“ I never been so bad fix all my life. I trade ver’ 
good ’oss for dis ’oss ; I take my family to ride Sun- 
days, all fall, an’ he work more ; an’ I t’ink I make 
him work on ice, an’ drawin’ clay in brick-yards nex’ 
summer. He is all my property I got, on’y wot you 
see here, jes’ my family goods. I been goin’ make 
somet’in’ out dat ’oss, but, wen we git so fur, he give 
out ; I try to w’ip him some furder, an’ he ups an’ die.” 

“ Where’s your family now ? ” 

“ Dem two boys mine; I lef’ ’em to watch w’ile I go 
see^wot I shall do. My wife an’ some more children 
stop now ware I took ’em las’ night, some our own 
people, poor people, like us ; leetle small house, much 
too small. We stop one night ver’ well. An’ I mus’ 
go on, begin cuttin’ ice, or I lose my job. It was all 
right — I reckon I make journey in t’ree four days — 
but, wen I git so fur, dat ’oss he ups an’ die.” 

“How many children have you, Lizard? ” 

“ Dem two boys an’ five more.” 

“ Seven children, your wife, and yourself, and 
those goods. I should think that a pretty good load 
for a much better horse,” said Roy. “ And isn’t it 
bad wheeling? ” 

“ W’eelin’ is not good ; but I have got no sleigh ; 
an’ I mus’ take all my fam’ly one load ; — leetle small 
shavers, all but dem boys ; — an’ we go foot wen we fin’ 
dat ’oss won’t draw ; but it was no use ; we git so fur, 
wen he ups an — ” 

“Yes, Lizard, so I heard you say. And what are 
you going to do now ? ” 


92 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


“ Dat’s wot I do’no’. I am poor man. I git not’n’ 
do in dis place, an’ no ’ouse for my fam’ly ; ’ere is 
wagon load stuff ; I git putty short ; have jes’ bout 
t’ree, four dollar ; I cannot go back, an’ I cannot go on ; 
it is t’irty mile yet; an’ I git so fur wen dat ’oss — ” 

“ Don’t talk about the dead horse any more,” ex- 
claimed Roy. “ Isn’t there anybody in this place who 
will help you ? ” 

“I do’no ’; my Men’s ’ere poor folks like me; I ask 
some people, an’ dey say we mus’ go to poorhouse till 
we can be send back to some town w%re we come from ; 
but dere is not’n’ for poor man do dis ’ard winter. 
I ’ave find nuder ’oss, by Men’s show me; he is ver’ 
good ’oss ; if I ’ave him I can go on ; but he cos’ some 
money, not ver’ much.” 

The crowd had by this time left the dead horse and 
gathered around Roy and the Canadian. 

“We’ll take up a contribution for you and help you 
buy the horse, if he doesn’t cost too much.” 

And Roy, forgetting his own hard fortune in his 
sympathy for poor Lassarde, addressed the bystanders. 

“ I know this man,” he said ; “ and I know him to 
be a hard-working, honest fellow. You see the scrape 
he is in. Now, by clubbing together, and each giving 
a trifle, we can help him out. I’ll start the contribution 
with one dollar. Yon, I am sure, will give another,” 
turning to a respectable-looking citizen whose influ- 
ence he thought it wise to secure. 

The man smiled, and, as the other bystanders were 
watching his face, they smiled too. 



ROY TAKES UP A CONTRIBUTION • Page 93 























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OUR HERO HELPS A FAMILY TO RIDE. 93 

4,, I don’t know as I’ve got a dollar to invest in horse- 
flesh for one of these vagabond Cannucks,” he said ; 
and this view of the case was immediately adopted by 
the crowd. 

In vain Roy assured them that Lassarde was no vag- 
abond. Not a dollar was forthcoming to help the 
poor man. 

“ If gen’lmen won’t give dollar apiece, let some 
give half, some quarter, some few cents, dat will do,” 
said the Canadian. “ I git dat odder ’oss for five 
dollars.” 

“ Five dollars ! ” exclaimed Roy. “ And are you 
sure the horse you can buy for five dollars will take 
you through ? ” 

Lassarde was sure. 

Again Roy appealed to the crowd. One man con- 
tributed ten cents, a boy gave five, a few others gave 
one or two cents apiece, not out of benevolence, but 
for the joke of the thing. 

Roy was indignant. He took out his pocket-book, 
and said, sarcastically : — 

“ After getting such a heavy contribution from the 
rest, I am ashamed of having given only one dollar. 
I’m not a man of means, like some of these gentlemen. 
You shall have your horse, though, Lizard.” 

And he gave five dollars in place of one. 

The Canadian’s black eyes glistened. 

“ Tank you, Roy. Now I can git on. You save my 
fam’ly. I take de money, but I shall pay it back. ” 

Roy smiled rather ruefully. 


94 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“Very well. I suppose the time may come when 1 
shall need it more than you. But just now you need 
it more than I. Luck to you, my friend ! ” 

“ Oh, I shall ’aye luck now. I was all right before, 
you see. I ’ave my ’ouse engage ; I ’ave big job on 
ice ; I move my family, but, wen I git so fur, my ’oss 
ups and die. If it wasn’t been for dat — ” 

“ Well, good-by ! ” said Roy, interrupting him. “ I 
hope your new horse won’t die before you get to your 
journey’s end. My respects to Mrs. Lizard and the 
little Lizards.” 

And he walked off, with a cheerful air. 

He was now little more than ten or eleven miles 
from home, and the nine dollars with which he had 
set out had become reduced to three dollars and a 
half. 


SOY SETS UP AS A CLOG KM A&EB. 


95 


CHAPTER XIII. 

ROY SETS UP AS A CLOCKMAKER. 

I T was Roy’s habit to act impulsively and to reflect 
afterward. As he walked on, it occurred to him 
that he had possibly done two foolish things. 

He had acted in such a way as to attract attention 
in a village where it was pretty certain that he 
would be inquired after. 

In doing kindness to a poor man, he had shown very 
little consideration for a poor horse. He had also been 
sadly negligent of the interests of another unfortunate, 
named Roydon Rockwood. 

“Suppose Lizard’s second horse should ups and 
die ?” thought he ; and, for a moment, Roy wished he 
had back his five dollars. 

One of the saddest things in life is to have cause to 
regret a kind action. To regret a bad action is a 
wholesome bitter ; but to feel that you have been too 
impulsively good, to learn to suspect and chide your 
own generous impulses, — this is a bitter which is not 
wholesome ; and this is what Roy tasted now. 

His one great fault, as we see, was imprudence. 
That is sometimes a noble fault — the rich soil from 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


m 

which springs the glorious flower of heroic conduct ; 
as we shall also see before we are through with his 
story. Occasions there are when it is well to forget 
every consideration of personal safety and comfort in 
the performance of supreme duty — when imprudence 
becomes the higher prudence. 

But unfortunately this indiscreet impulsiveness 
governed too much all Roy’s actions, good as well as 
bad. It was this which had caused him to choose 
wild companions and present pleasure instead of seri- 
ous studies and future usefulness. Governed by this 
he had countenanced a foolish and criminal act ; and 
then, believing he was in honor bound not to give 
evidence against the culprits, he had run away from 
a good home and the best of friends, in midwinter. 
And now it had betrayed him into giving the larger 
share of his money to a man better fitted than him- 
self to get over the rough places of life without it. 

“ The worst that could have happened to the 
Lizards,” thought he, “ would probably have been a 
few weeks of winter weather in a comfortable poor- 
house.” But how much worse things might happen 
to himself ! And it was vexing to reflect that he had 
given the money, not simply because he was more 
generous than most people, but because he was more 
rash. 

In this he did himself injustice, and there is danger 
lest we do him injustice too. Had he po? messed 
merely rashness without generosity, his story would 
not be worth telling. We are trying to show h im as 


ROY SETS UP AS A CLOCKMAKER. 


97 


he was — a youth not altogether good, nor wholly bad, 
but having some fine qualities, and some weak ones, 
mixed. 

There were plenty of dullards in the crowd around 
the dead horse who would never have been guilty of 
one of Roy’s follies ; and for a moment he almost en- 
vied them their commonplace existence. 

“ But, no ! ” he suddenly exclaimed, within himself, 
his depressed spirit rising again as he thought of their 
sneering faces and unfeeling hearts, “ I’d rather not 
live at all than be able to stand by and find nothing 
but amusement in any man’s misfortune. Whatever 
happens to me, I’m glad I’m not so bad as that.” 

He did not stop at the tavern, thinking now that he 
must husband his means, and that he was still too near 
home to risk needless delay. 

It was seven miles farther to the railroad station, 
where he had planned to take a train, and have as 
much of a ride as a little money would buy. He 
would go to Worcester, he thought, and thence make 
his way to Boston, or possibly to New York, unless 
Fortune should meet him on the road. He had 
traveled about five of those seven miles, when his 
strength failed, and with it his resolution to walk the 
whole distance without stopping. 

For two nights now he had not had his accustomed 
rest ; he had not had his usual breakfast, either, and 
he was not trained to long tramps. His limbs grew 
heavy, his head light ; he felt faint, almost to giddi* 
ness ; he could hardly drag one foot after the other. 


98 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ I shouldn’t wonder if I am famished,” he argued 
with himself. “ Perhaps that’s what’s the matter. 
Yonder’s a benevolent-looking farm-house, I’ll try 
my luck there.” 

He knocked at a side door, and a feeble old lady 
appeared. She looked down kindly and curiously at 
the youthful stranger on the door-step. 

“Iam walking to the railroad,” he said. “It’s 
farther than I thought, and — will you be so good as 
to let me rest a little while by your fire ? ” 

“ Certainly,” replied the old lady. “ Walk in.” 

The door opened into a cozy sitting-room, wher# 
two young women were sewing. 

Roy was given a seat by an air-tight stove. The 
old lady insisted on taking his hat, and put a fresh 
stick into the stove, in honor of his arrival. She also 
made some friendly remarks about the weather, and 
asked him if he had traveled far. 

“ From Jasmyn,” he replied, naming the place 
where he had encountered the Canadian. “ I’m not 
bound to tell her how much farther,” he thought. 

“ Do you live in Jasmyn ? ” 

“ I have lived there a little while.” And, he added 
to himself, “ I should think about half an hour.” 

He looked at the clock, and appeared startled. 

“Is that the correct time?” he asked, taking out 
his watch. 

“ Oh, dear, no,” said the old lady. “ That clock 
don’t go. What is your time ? ” 

“ Half-past ten,” Roy replied, sighing to think it 


ROY SETS UP AS A CLOCKMAKER. 


99 


was still so far from the rural dinner-hour. “ I # m 
afraid I shall miss the forenoon train.” 

This led to a discussion of the trains, and the old 
ladj asked where he was going. 

“To Worcester,” said Roy, boldly. 

It was decided that he had missed the train he 
ought to have taken, and that another did not get 
along until two o’clock. 

“ You look tired,” said one of the younger women. 
“Won’t you lie down on the lounge? ” 

Evidently these good people rather liked the looks 
of the young stranger. 

“ Nothing would suit me better,” he answered, 
frankly. 

He was given a cushion for a pillow, and one of the 
women spread a shawl over him. He thanked her, 
and closed his eyes. In two minutes he was fast 
asleep. 

He slept about half an hour, when he was awakened 
by a young man coming into the house. The young 
man appeared a good deal more surprised than pleased 
at seeing a stranger in possession of the lounge. One 
of the women explained, and the young man growled 
and went out. 

Roy felt much refreshed, and wished to do some- 
thing to distract his anxious thoughts, pass away the 
time, and repay those good women for their kindness. 

“ Will you allow me to look at that clock ? ” he 
asked. “ Perhaps I can make it go.” 

He had more than once taken to pieces the kitchen 


100 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


clock at home when it had stopped, and put it in 
running order. 

In a little while, another man came in. This time 
it was an old man. He looked in astonishment to 
see a stranger at a stand before a front window, tink- 
ering the old clock. Again the woman explained ; 
and he, too, growled and went out. 

“You don’t know if he’ll be able ever to put them 
works together agin in this world ! ” Roy heard him 
mutter as the door slammed. 

And it did seem as if the woman had been rather 
hasty in putting her clock into the hands of a mere boy, 
who did not profess to be a clockmaker, and who had 
no tools to work with but a pocket-knife and a pair of 
pincers. 

It was too late, however, to prevent any mischief 
he might do. The empty case was on the floor, and 
his little table was already strewn with pins and cog- 
wheels. 

Roy smiled, and asked himself if this was not an- 
other of his rash undertakings ? Suppose he couldn’t 
get all the scattered pieces in place again ? 

“ Those two men will do something besides growl- 
ing,” thought he. “I shall just get kicked out of 
doors, that’s all.” 

“ Are you sure you ain’t attempting too much?” 
the old lady now asked, looking over his shoulder. 
“We should hate dreadfully to have you spile the 
clock.” 

“No danger of that, ’’replied Roy, confidently. “It’s 


ROY SETS UP AS A CLOCKMAKER. 


101 


perfectly simple. I think I’ve discovered the trouble. 
The stove-heat has gummed the oil on this pinion. 
The clock needs a thorough cleaning ; if you can give 
me a feather and a rag and some sweet-oil I’ll see 
what I can do.” 

Though the clock was of a different make from the 
one he was used to, its machinery was not very com- 
plicated, and he felt sure he could master it, provided 
he was let alone. Meanwhile, greatly to his delight, 
he heard sounds of frying, and perceived savory odors 
that came from an adjoining kitchen ; and soon, on a 
large table behind him, which had been pulled out 
from the wall, fell heavy dinner plates with a clatter 
cheering to his soul. 

Suddenly the woman who was setting the table 
paused, and gazed from the window. 

“ Do look at that wagon-load of goods and children, 
and that poor old horse !” 

Roy raised his eyes, and beheld a sight which made 
him flush all over, and started the perspiration from 
every pore of his skin. 


102 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WHAT ROY SAW FROM THE WINDOW. 

M ONSIEUR LASSARDE had met with some de- 
lays at Jasmyn Village. 

After the new horse had been purchased, if so old 
an animal could in any sense be called new, it was 
discovered that he had no shoes. He slipped and fell 
as his new owner was leading him across an icy bit 
of sidewalk ; and poor Lassarde had hard work getting 
him on his feet again. If this happened before he 
was given a load to draw, what might be expected 
afterward? The late owner, who, I am sorry to say, 
was a Yankee, kept his hand in the pocket where 
Roy’s five dollars had found a comfortable lodging, 
smiled, and warned the little man that he must be 
careful. 

“You sell me de ’oss widout shoes!” said the 
Canadian, furiously. 

“Exactly,” replied the Yankee, coolly. “I sold 
the horse, pure and simple. I don’t deal in shoes.” 

“ But ev’y ’oss mus’ be shod,” said the Canadian. 

“ So I think,” said the Yankee. “ I advise you to 
shoe him.” 


WHAT ROY SAW FROM THE WINDOW. 103 

And this was all the satisfaction Lassarde could get. 

Now it chanced that he had a set of horse-shoes, 
only they were on the wrong horse. They were on 
the feet of the dead horse by the roadside. Hence 
another little difficulty. 

One of the selectmen had met the Canadian, and 
told him sternly that he mustn’t leave his dead horse 
there ; he would be prosecuted if he didn’t take the 
carcass away. To have his steed “ ups and die” was 
not, it seemed, the end of his misfortunes. What was 
he to do with him now ? He could not, certainly, be 
expected to load him up into his wagon, and convey 
him away, with his goods and children. 

“ I urns’ not leaf him ; an’ 1 cannot take him ; an’ 
wot shall I do ? ” he asked, despairingly. 

At last another Yankee had been found, who agreed 
to take the horse as a gift, and be responsible for him. 
He would use the hide for some purpose, and plant 
the rest in his field for the benefit of his crops. 

So now, when Lassarde returned with a blacksmith, 
who set about pulling off the old horse’s shoes for the 
new horse’s feet, up stepped the last-named Yankee, 
and exclaimed, — 

“ Hands off ! ” 

“Wot you mean?” said Lassarde. 

“ I mean it is my horse ; let him alone.” 

“ Yes, I gif you de ’oss ; but I not gif you de shoes.” 

“Shoes go with the horse,” said the Yankee. 
“ They’re a part of my perquisites.” 

“ But de udder man sell me ’oss widout shoes ! ” 
argued Lassarde. 


104 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ The more fool you,” was the answer. 

Lassarde thought it a poor rule that wouldn’t work 
both ways ; but it seemed that it wouldn’t. 

At last the matter was compromised by his paying 
the owner of the old horse the sum of thirty cents for 
permission to remove the shoes. It cost him I know 
not how much more to get them set and transferred 
to the hoofs of the living horse. 

Finally, however, these obstacles overcome at an 
expense he could ill afford, the little Canadian got 
steed number two into the harness, and then into the 
shafts, took his family aboard, and set off cheerily on 
his journey, amid the merriment of an uncivil popu- 
lace. Jasmyn was a dull place ; and it did not have 
an incident to entertain it every day in the year. 

And laughter, tempered by some little human feel- 
ing for a poor family and a horse that stood sadly 
in need of protection from the Dumb Animals’ So- 
ciety, was certainly excusable in the circumstances. 

A wagon always looks odd in the country, in win- 
ter, when sleighs are in vogue ; but Lassarde’s wagon 
would have looked odd at any time, it was so high, 
so queer-fashioned, and it carried so grotesque a load. 

Madame Lassarde and six children sat amid the an- 
tique household furniture, wrapped in bed-clothing, 
while Monsieur Lassarde and the oldest boy went 
afoot. Now and then, when the road was a little 
steep, Lassarde would leave the reins with the boy, 
and push behind. Fortunately, the snow in the mid- 
dle of the track was well-worn and hard ; for, if the 


WHAT ROY SAW FROM THE WINDOW. 105 

wheels had sunk in, not all the man’s pushing and all 
the boy’s shouting to the horse, would have served to 
keep the vehicle in motion. 

Such was the sight that sent the streaks of heat and 
moisture shooting over Roy’s shoulders and down to 
his heels. He laughed, nevertheless, there was some- 
thing so ludicrous in it all. Lassarde was pushing at 
the time, probably having taken a lesson from the fate 
of the other horse. 

“ They look as if they had just come out of the 
ark,” said one of the women. 

Roy did not mention the fact that his own money 
was invested in the horse : he wasn’t proud of it. 
And yet the feeling that he had done what he could 
to help a poor man out of trouble was a secret com- 
fort ; and the anxious hope that Lassarde might finish 
his journey without another catastrophe made him 
forget, for awhile, his own misfortunes. 

At length one- of the women said, — 

“ I guess ye better set by, now, and take some din- 
ner with us.” 

Roy did not require much urging. He was on his 
feet in a moment. His eyes beamed. 

“ Better let him wash ’fore they come in,” said the 
old lady, in a low voice. 

Roy was given a basin of water at the kitchen sink, 
a clean side of a roller-towel, and a place at the table. 
It seemed to be a point with the women of the house 
to get him securely seated before the two men ap- 
peared. 


106 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


They came in together this time. Roy heard their 
heavy boots and gruff voices, and felt their black 
looks, as they paused, and gazed at him in even 
greater astonishment than before. His back was 
toward them, and he did not turn his head. 

“ Now, if I don't get that clock together all right,” 
thought he, “ I shall catch it.” 

The men used the basin and the towel, and then, 
with a clattering of chairs and a few muttered words, 
took their seats at the table. The old man growled 
out a blessing on the repast. In his petition, he did 
not except the food about to be eaten by the unwel- 
come stranger, as he should have done, Roy fancied, 
to be consistant. 

“ I believe women are always a great deal better 
than men,” was the young fellow’s hasty conclusion. 

The principal dish was tripe. Roy had never tasted 
tripe. The old man poised his knife over the platter, 
and asked, with an ungracious grimace, — 

“ Have some? ” 

Roy, who would have been glad of any thing, even 
salt pork, answered, with a polite smile, 

“ If you please.” 

The old man helped him liberally, — with a sinister 
motive, Roy thought afterward, when he found how 
hard it was to worry the tripe down. Not even hun- 
ger gave it a relish. Poor, pampered, dainty Roy! 
how was he ever going to adapt himself to the diet 
of plain country people ? 

As the old man now and then looked savagely at 


WHAT HOY SAW FROM THE WINDOW. 107 

his guest’s plate, Roy would pluck up courage, and 
make a great show of attacking the tripe with hearti- 
ness and vigor, only to fall back upon bread and pota- 
toes the moment the jealous eyes were withdrawn. 
There were also boiled turnips on the table, which 
Roy, who hated boiled turnips, thanked heaven that 
he had had the moral courage to refuse. The tripe 
was misfortune enough for one day. 

Well for him, the bread and potatoes were good, 
and with them — supplemented by a large piece of 
mince-pie for dessert — he managed to get a pretty 
good meal. 

The women made a little talk, but the men not 
much. The old man, having got out of him the fact 
that he knew nothing of clockmaking, had answered 
with a dissatisfied grunt, and then gone on with his 
dinner in moody silence. The younger man all the 
while showed, even by the way he slashed and swal- 
lowed his tripe, a sullen discontent. 

Roy was sorry he had brought such a cloud upon 
the family. He saw, however, by the tranquil de- 
meanor of the women, that it was probably no new 
thing, and that they were not much disturbed by it. 

He was more than ever anxious about the clock, 
and got back to it as soon as possible. He had now 
only to put the thing together. It did not help him 
at all to hear, over his shoulder, the younger man 
picking his teeth noisily with a quill, and to know 
what unfriendly eyes were watching his work. 

Roy grew nervous. He stopped, trying to think 


108 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


what he was to do with a certain pin, and, beginning 
to whistle, looked from the window. 

He did not gain much by that, and he did not 
whistle long. 

A sleigh was coming along the road, drawn by a 
tawny-colored horse. The driver — a stout, broad- 
faced man — was using his whip pretty freely. The 
horse’s side and flank were mottled with dark, irregu- 
lar stripes, as if nature had intended to finish him off 
in the zebra style, but had afterward changed her 
mind about it. 

Roy knew those spots. He knew the horse. He 
knew the driver. It was Constable Drollers. 

His heart gave an excited leap. 

“ He’s on my track ! He has a warrant for me in 
his pocket! ” 

Not a very cheering thought. 

Drollers seemed bent on driving past, quite rapidly 
too ; but suddenly he drew rein, and pulled up sharply 
before the big gate. 

“He has seen my face through the window!” 
thought Roy. 

Rising quickly, he gave his table a little knock, and 
away went the two great clock-weights, which he had 
just placed upright at the edge, thundering to the 
floor. 


DISADVANTAGE OF BEING INTERRUPT ED . 109 


CHAPTER XV. 

THE DISADVANTAGE OF BEING INTERRUPTED IN ONE’S WORK. 

D ROLLERS had not seen Roy’s face at the win- 
dow. What he had really seen was an old 
man under a shed at the end of the house. He 
stopped to make some inquiries of him — the sort of 
inquiries Roy guessed only too well. 

The clock-weights had fallen with a noise which 
caused the man who stood picking his teeth to spring 
off with his toes, and stumble backwards over an 
empty chair. The old lady screamed with fright. Her 
first impression was that her son — for such the young 
man evidently was — had insulted Roy, that Roy had 
assaulted her son, and that clock -weights had 
passed between them. 

At the same time, the young man’s wife and sister 
— as Roy guessed the younger women to be — ran in 
from the kitchen to learn the cause of the fracas. 

“No harm,” said Roy, picking up the weights with 
a very red face — probably the result of stooping. He 
turned squarely on the man, who was just getting 
upon his feet. “ Can you — if you please — get me a 
— a tack-hammer ? ” 


110 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


The fellow made no answer, but looked surlily foi 
his tooth-pick, which he found crushed on the floor. 

While the wife was getting the tack-hammer, Roy 
sprang to his overcoat, and appeared to be searching 
the pockets for something, while he was in reality 
watching from the window to see what Drollers would 
do, and preparing for flight. The good people did not 
notice that he fumbled the armholes instead of the 
pockets. 

Wild thoughts rushed through the boy’s brain in 
that moment of intense anxiety. That Drollers would 
learn of his presence in the house and start to come in, 
he had not a doubt. Then on would go the overcoat 
and away would go the wearer, with his hat and sachel, 
out of the back door, leaving his dinner unpaid for, and 
the clock in that condition to astonish and exasperate 
the ill-natured men-folks during the remainder of their 
lives. And what a return this would be for the kind- 
ness of the women ! They would never, of course, hear 
the last of their foolish confidence in a stranger from 
those two brutes, who knew all the while by his looks 
what a slippery rouge he was. 

Roy had scarcely twenty seconds to wait ; yet, during 
that time, he thought of all this and of much besides. 
He cast a look of despair at the dissected clock, and 
bitterly cursed his folly in undertaking so delicate a 
task at such a time. What a reputation for ingratitude 
and rascality he was destined to leave behind him in 
consequence ! It would naturally be believed, even 
by those kind women, that he had offered to repair 


DISADVANTAGE OF BEING INTERRUPTED. Ill 

the clock merely as a pretence to stay and get invited 
to dinner ; and perhaps he might be suspected of will- 
ingly taking to his heels, and leaving the scattered 
works for them to gather up as best they could. 

He could think of but one possible atonement for 
this seeming villainy. He remembered that he had 
three dollars and a half in his pocket. He would 
leave it all — throw even his pocket-book behind him 
— as he took to flight. 

Only one thing could save him from this inglorious 
retreat. That was extremely unlikely to happen. Yet 
happen it did. 

Broilers drove on . 

The young woman brought the tack-hammer, which 
he did not want. He took it, however, thanked her, 
wiped his forehead with a handkerchief he had taken 
from his overcoat, and sat down again at the little 
table. 

In walked the old man. 

“ What did that stranger want ?” asked the daugh- 
ter. 

“ Wanted to know if I’d seen a young feller go by 
here to-day — brown overcoat, small bag strapped to 
his left side, narrer-rimmed felt hat. I hain’t seen 
none sich ; has anybody? ” 

“ Why, dear me, pa ! we haven’t seen any such go 
by, but — ” 

And the daughter, and indeed the whole family, 
looked hard at Roy. 

“ Sartin ! ’’ejaculated the old man. “ Why in time 


112 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


didn’t I — How stupid I be ! I never thought of 
him.” 

It must be remembered that he was an old man, 
that his wits were slow, and that he had not seen Roy 
in full traveling costume. 

“ Did he say what he wanted of me?” asked Roy, 
appearing very intent on his work. 

“ No ; only it seemed he wanted to be sure whuther 
you’d passed this way or not.” 

Roy laughed excitedly. 

“Let him think I’ve passed. I’ve left home with- 
out my friends’ consent ; and he would like to take 
me back again. If he does, I hope he’ll give me time 
to put this clock together first.” 

His fingers trembled so that he almost despaired 
for awhile of ever managing the wheels and pins. But 
he rapidly regained control of his nerves, and soon 
worked all the faster for the little excitement which 
had roused him. In a quarter of an hour, the face 
was on, the weights attached, the pointers in their 
place. 

He put the clock on the mantle-piece, and set the 
pendulum swinging. 

It continued to swing. 

The clock ticked. 

He moved the pointers around, setting them by 
those of his watch, and the striking part put in a vig- 
orous and healthy voice, as they passed the hours. 

He smiled; the women smiled. Evidently he hadn’t 
done the clock any harm. The young man looked in- 
credulous. The old man muttered, — 


DISADVANTAGE OF BEING INTERRUPTED. 113 

“ It’ll stop in about five minutes — it allers does.” 

“ I’ll wait five minutes and see,” said Roy, light- 
hearted as a lark. “Meanwhile,” — he took out his 
pocket-book — “how much for my dinner?” 

The old man hesitated. The young man’s wife 
spoke up : — 

“ I think we ought to pay you something for fixing 
the clock.” 

“ I don’t charge any thing for that,” replied Roy, fin- 
gering his money. “ I did that just for amusement, 
while I was waiting. Resides, it’s going to stop when 
the five minutes are up — so they say.” 

“ It don’t act like stopping,” said the old lady. “It 
hain’t ticked off smart like that this winter before.” 
And she added, aside, to the old man, “ Don’t take 
any thing for his dinner.” 

His overcoat on, his sachel- strap buckled, money 
in hand, Roy stood waiting for the old man to make 
up his mind. The young man looked as if he could 
have made up his mind sooner. It was the hardest 
thing in the world for either of those amiable persons 
to admit that they had for once been wrong in their 
calculations, and the women-folks right. 

“ Guess I won’t take your money,” said the old man 
at last. “ It’s goin’ now ; but I think like as not it ’ll 
stop soon as you’re out of the house.” 

The young man’s wife made a sign for Roy to put 
his money into his pocket, and he obeyed. The five 
minutes were up. The clock was still going, chipper 
as could be. He was in a hurry to get off. 


8 


114 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“I’ll call when T come this way again,” he said-, 
“ and, if you tell me then that the clock stopped as 
soon as I was out of sight, — well, I’ll pay you twice 
over for the next dinner I eat with you. Meanwhile, 
I sha’n’t forget your kindness.” 

He shook hands with the three women, said good- 
day to the two men (who growled a surly “g’day,” 
and “ good-arternoon,” in response), and hurried 
away, following Drollers up the road. 


A LITTLE GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK. 115 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A LITTLE GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK. 

R OY did not follow Drollers very far. 

“ He will go straight to the depot, and inquire 
for me. He will set somebody to watch for me there, 
and telegraph to stations up and down the road. I 
shall be in demand at Fitchburg. A policeman will 
be waiting to shake hands with me as I step off the 
train at Worcester. But I slia’n’t step off at Worces- 
ter. I’m not going to Fitchburg. I shall keep clear 
of railroads. I depend on Shanks’ horses. Now, 
Dumpy may be coming back on his track at any mo- 
ment, and I must give him a wide berth.” 

Reasoning in this way, Roy kept a sharp watch for 
the zebra horse returning, and, at the same time, 
looked anxiously for a safe and convenient place to 
quit the public road. 

The right place appeared at last. It was in a deso- 
late hollow, out of sight of human habitations. Foot- 
prints through the snow converged to a path that led 
from the roadside, along a bushy slope, up into thick 
woods covering the hills. He followed the path, and 
was soon buried in the woods. 


116 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


The sun was shining brightly through the trees. 
The path was well trodden. He walked swiftly on, 
and at length reached an old clearing, where the 
footprints became lost in sled-tracks winding among 
the stumps. 

“ Somebody has been drawing out wood here lately,” 
said he. “ These square spots of bare ground are the 
places where the wood was corded.” 

The winding tracks flowed into one main track as 
he went on. The sound of axes echoed in the woods, 
and he passed in sight of the choppers. He did not 
stop to make their acquaintance. 

What interested him more, was a sled, loaded with 
wood, and drawn by two heavy farm-horses, coming 
out of another clearing farther on, and turning into the 
beaten track. There it halted, while the driver climbed 
up, and perched himself on his load, with his legs 
hanging over one side. As it moved on again, past a 
thick clump of pines, Roy sprang lightly after, seized 
a stake on the other side, found room for his foot on 
the edge of the sled, and rode standing. 

The driver, as he turned into the track, had seen 
Roy ; but he did not see him jump on behind. And 
now the huge pile of wood was between them, the top 
towering above Roy’s head. 

The sled wound through hollows and around hill- 
sides, and finally came out upon another highway. 

“ It is going to the railroad,” thought Roy. “ This 
is wood for the locomotives. I’ll wait for a good 
chance, and then jump off.” 


A LITTLE GAME OF KIDE-AND-SEEK. 117 


In the meantime, Drollers, not hearing from Roy at 
the railroad station, had driven over to another station, 
and made some further inquiries for him there. Then, 
instead of returning the way he came, as Roy had 
thought he might do, he had taken the road up from 
the second station, which chanced to be the very road 
the sled -load of wood was now traveling. 

He saw the load of wood approaching ; and, at the 
same time, Roy, swinging himself out at arm’s length 
from the stake, in order to look ahead, discovered the 
tawny-colored horse. Officer and fugitive were, in 
fact, on the point of meeting on this narrow country 
road. 

To understand what followed, we must bear in 
mind that Roy and the driver were at opposite corners 
of the load, Roy behind, on what is called by team- 
sters the “off” side, — that is to say, the right-hand 
side, — and the driver up in front, with his legs hang- 
ing over on the “near ” side. 

Roy was desperately afraid Drollers had seen him 
clinging to his stake, and believed nothing was left 
for him but a race for life — or, at least, for liberty — 
across the fields and back into the woods he had trav- 
ersed. He had a good deal of confidence in his own 
heels, on ordinary occasions ; but his long walk that 
day had told upon him, and, since resuming his travels, 
he had been painfully aware of stiffened limbs. 

On the other hand, he knew that Dumpy Drollers 
was a much better runner than he looked, or than his 
nickname implied. More than this, in his capacity of 


118 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


village policeman, Drollers had taken revenge on ju- 
venile offenders for the said nickname, by practically 
demonstrating the fact, that, though broad in the 
beam and deep in the hold, he was not so slow a craft 
as they imagined ; that his speed, like that of an ele- 
phant, was a good deal more than one would suppose 
from the appearance of the animal ; in a word, that 
his legs were longer and vastly better than their 
own. 

Besides, the race is not always to the long-limbed. 
Muscle and lungs have much to do with it. Drollers 
had the muscle and lungs of an ox. 

Roy reasoned, “ If he has discovered me, he will turn 
out on this side ; if not, he will turn out on the other.” 
And he held himself ready to dodge either way. 

It was a moment of extreme anxiety. He did not 
dare show his head again, but tightened himself to the 
stake, and waited. 

The sled kept the track, while the light cutter went 
crashing out into the crust-covered snow, not on Roy’? 
side, but on that of the driver’s legs hanging over the 
corner of the load. 

Suddenly the crashing in the crust and the squeak- 
ing of sled-runners ceased. The cutter stopped on 
the roadside ; the load of wood stopped in the track. 

Roy, peeping around his corner of the load, could 
see the head and shoulders of the horse with the im- 
perfect zebra marks. Cold as the weather was, the 
animal was covered with sweat. 

Drollers, who had stopped the wood-sled in order 
to put a question to the teamster, now put it. 


A LITTLE GAME OF HIDE-AND-SEEK. 119 

“ Have you seen anywhere on the road a young fel- 
low traveling afoot ? ” 

“ Nowhere on the road ; but I saw a fellow back 
here in the woods,” Roy heard the teamster respond. 

“ How was he dressed?” 

“ I didn’t notice nothin’ very pertickler ’bout his 
dress, only he was what you’d call well-dressed, — 
kind of a brownish overcoat, — good-looking young 
feller, ’peared to be.” (Roy, at any other time, might 
have been pleased to know that.) 

“Carrying any thing?” cried Drollers. 

“ Not as I noticed.” 

“ You didn’t see a small carpet-bag strapped to his 
shoulders ? ” 

“ Might ’a’ been such a bag, but I didn’t notice it ; 
he was cornin’ towards me.” 

“ What sort of a hat?” 

The teamster gave a pretty good description of 
Roy’s hat ; and Drollers, feeling sure now that he 
was getting on the right track again, inquired partic- 
ularly as to the place where Roy had been seen, and 
the way he was going. 

“ He seemed to be coming on after me,” said the 
teamster ; “but I lost him behind some bushes.” 

Roy remained breathless with suspense. He was 
not yet out of danger, even if Drollers should drive 
on without suspecting that only a load of wood had 
been between them. A glance backward from the 
cutter, after it should come into the track again, might 
discover the fugitive flattened against the side of the 
load. 


120 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


And now the teamster seemed to think it time for 
him to gratify his curiosity by asking a question or 
two in return. 

“Who is this young feller you’re after?” 

u One of the young barn-burners who fired some 
buildings in Bayfield night ’fore last. We’ve got 
some of ’em. He’s the slipperiest of the lot.” 

“ Gracious mighty ! ’’said the man. “ I hope you’ll 
ketch him, and put ’em all through. Hanged if I 
want my barn burnt.” 

While he was speaking, Roy, whose ear was wait- 
ing anxiously for the sound, heard the crust break 
again on the opposite side of the load. Drollers, whose 
conversation aimed at business and not pleasure, was 
starting off. 

Instantty, Roy sprang forward, seized a pointed 
stick, which stuck out in front of the load, and swung 
himself upon the end of the sled, behind the off horse. 
There he crouched. 

He was now where Drollers, if he should look back, 
could not see him; but he might easily have been 
seen by the teamster, if the latter had taken the 
trouble to lean forward, and look down over the end 
of his load. 

The teamster had something else to do. The sled 
was once more getting in motion, straining and 
squeaking as the horses did their part. 

The off horse had to be touched up to be made to 
draw an even whiffletree, and the driver’s lash, flying 
back, hit Roy in the face. If it had put his eye out, 
he would have kept still. 


A REDE ON A LOCOMOTIVE. 


121 


CHAPTER XVII. 


A RIDE ON A LOCOMOTIVE. 


FTER riding a little while crouched in a most 



uncomfortable posture against the sharp ends 
of the sticks, Roy ventured to look back. Drollers 
was out of sight. 

In a minute Roy was at his original stake again, 
still undiscovered by the driver. He could not help 
laughing as he thought of the constable amusing him- 
self by exploring the woods, and making inquiries of 
the choppers, for a young fellow in a brown overcoat, 
with a small carpet-bag strapped to his shoulders. 

He knew the teamster would be looking out for 
such a fellow now, and did not care to be seen by him. 
He found no convenient place for quitting the sled, 
however, without exposing himself, until the great 
sign, “ Railroad Crossing — Look out for the Engine,” 
appeared in view, supported by its tall posts, above 
the street. 

Just before reaching the railroad, the teamster turned 
into an open field at the left, and, looking up the track, 
Roy saw, a few rods off, an immensely long double 
pile of wood, and beside it a gravel-train, with its 
smoking locomotive and tender taking on fuel. 


122 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy sprang from the sled at the end of the pile, 
passed inside of it, walked on between the wood and 
the freight- train, dodged the men loading the tender, 
and climbed up into the cab of the locomotive. 

The engineer was stretched out on a seat at one 
side. He looked up, not ill-naturedly, at Roy. 

“ Allow a fellow to warm his shins at your kitchen 
fire?” 

“’Gainst the rules of the road to let strangers in 
here.” 

“ Oh! is it? Well, I won’t stay long,” said Roy. 

“ We’re going to start in a minute.” 

And the engineer looked back to see if the tender 
had about got its load. 

“ I sha’n’t object to that, particularly,” Roy replied. 

“ Seems to me you’ve got cheek,” remarked the 
engineer, sleepily. 

“ Guess you would have cheek if you’d had such a 
tramp as I’ve had, and then should get into so com- 
fortable a place as this,” laughed Roy. “ An ac- 
quaintance of mine had a place for me in his cutter 
— I could have ridden with him just as well as not — 
but we passed each other — it happened very curi- 
ously — and now I’m in a sort of scrape — not used 
to walking, you know.” 

“ How fur ye going ? ” asked the engineer, as he 
got up and thrust fresh wood under the boiler. 

“ Beyond the next station,” Roy answered. 

“ We don’t go to the next station ahead,” said the 
engineer. “ We’re backing up.” 


A HIDE ON A LOCOMOTIVE. 


123 


“ You go to the next station back, don’t you ?” 

“Yes; we run down to Wilmot Hill, where we 
toad.” 

“ All right ; that’s the way I want to go, I never 
rode on a locomotive in my life. Wonder how it 
seems.” 

“ ’Gainst the rules,” repeated the engineer, clanging 
the furnace door, and pulling the cord that rang the 
locomotive bell. 

“ There are exceptions to all rules,” replied Roy. 
“ Let me ring the bell for you.” 

He got hold of the cord. At the same time he 
looked up the track, and saw the teamster, who had 
been unloading his wood, hasten to stand by his 
horses’ heads as the train started. 

“ If he sees me now, he’ll take me for a fireman, or 
an assistant engineer,” thought Roy. “ Hopes I may 
get caught and put through, does he ? I haven’t 
thanked him for my ride yet. I’ll give him a salute.” 
And he pulled the cord furiously. 

The train was on a side track. It ran forward to a 
switch, and then backed down on the main track, 
twice passing the teamster, who stood holding his 
frightened horses, and shouting : — 

“ Hold on, there ! ’Tain’t the cars they’re afraid 
on, but your confounded bell.” 

“ He can hold ’em ; let off your whistle just for fun,” 
said Roy. 

The engineer smiled, but did not blow the whistle. 

Roy kept the bell ringing as they passed the station 


124 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


where he knew Drollers had lately been making in- 
quiries for him. 

“ I’m going now where Dumpy can’t drive, and 
faster than Dumpy can drive,” thought he, as the 
long, rattling train went sliding down the track. 

He was soon on good terms with the engineer, and 
was sorry when they arrived at Wilmot Hill. The 
cars were then switched off at another side track, 
and run up under a great gash in the gravelly hill- 
side. 

A detached locomotive was standing on the main 
track, heading down the road. 

Roy thanked his new friends for the “ lift ” they 
had given him, and asked : — 

“ Is that engine going off now? ” 

w Shouldn’t wonder. I see they’ve got the chief 
contractor aboard.” 

“ Think I can get a ride ? ” 

“ Don’t know. It’s against the rule,” the engineer 
answered, with a smile. 

“ Say a good word for me, can’t you ?” 

“ I rather think you’re capable of saying a good 
word for yourself on occasion.” 

“ All right,” laughed Roy. 

He ran up to the locomotive just as it was about 
starting, and was going to climb into the cab without 
ceremony, when the engineer cried, in a sharp tone : — 

“ What you want here ? ” 

Roy had heard the fireman call the other engineer 
Charley, and he thought that name might be a key to 
this man’s favor ; so he replied - 


A HIDE ON A LOCOMOTIVE. 


125 


“ My friend Charley brought me down so far, and 
he said — ” 

“ I don’t care what your friend Charley said,” cried 
the man, interrupting him. “ Down from there ! ” 

And Roy got down. He stood trembling with 
wrath at the rude repulse and the laughter of the 
spectators, in which even his “ friend Charley ” joined ; 
while the engine, blowing side whiffs of hot water and 
steam from its gills, was getting under way. 

He found relief to his feelings in a keen, if not very 
witty retort. 

“ I’ve heard of civil engineers,” he cried, “ but I 
see you’re not one, either in manners or profession ! ” 

That turned the laugh in his favor, and his u friend 
Charley ” said, — 

“ If the chief contractor hadn’t been aboard, you 
might have had better luck.” 

“ It will be all the same a hundred years hence,” 
cried Roy, waving his hat. “ Good-by.” 

He walked down the track to the first by-road 
crossing, where he turned off, leaving the railroad and 
a good many baffling circumstances, he fancied, be- 
tween himself and the pursuing constable. 


126 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


ROY’S EXPERIENCE OF THE WORLD INCREASES, WHILE HIS 
FUNDS DIMINISH. 

OY followed the by-road a couple of miles, when 



XX. it took him into a more traveled thoroughfare. 
A few teams met and passed him, and once he noticed 
a man walking before him on the road. 

This man had on an army overcoat — one of those 
blue flowers that blossomed so plentifully all over the 
country at the close of our great civil war. The 
wearer’s pace was slow, and it grew slower and 
slower, until Roy overtook him ; then it quickened a 


little. 


“Beg pardon for troubling you,” said the man, 
keeping near Roy’s side, but a little behind. “ I ain’t 
a beggar, but I find myself compelled to ask for a 
little assistance.” 

“ You have taken the wrong colt by the mane,” 
Roy replied. “ I’m in a position to ask for help my- 
self, instead of helping others.” 

“ You can’t be so bad off as I am,” said the man, in 
a discouraged tone of voice. “ I was all through the 
war — wounded in the left knee at Chancellors- 
ville — carry the bullet yet, and expect to, long as I 


ROY'S EXPERIENCE INCREASES. 127 

live. Taken prisoner — six months in Libby prison 
Jest a mere skeleton when I was exchanged. Laid 
up in hospital, and then served in hospital till the war 
closed. Unable to work ever since, till this winter. 
Got a job in Springfield. Machinist by trade. Doing 
well, till last Saturday the shop closed — hard times 
— workmen all discharged. Spent all my money 
getting to Springfield, and now I’ve spent all I’d 
saved there, getting so far on my way home.” 

“ Where is your home ?” 

“ In Newburyport. I’ve friends there who will 
help me, if I can only get to them.” 

“ Don’t you find kind people on the way?” 

“ They may all be kind enough ; but there’s sc 
many impostors going that, wheil a genuine case comes 
along, nobody seems to know whether the man tells 
the truth, or lies like all the rest. I don’t blame folks. 
I only wish they knew what it is for a man that has 
served his country, and tried hard to get an honest liv- 
ing, to be looked at as they sometimes look at me, 
and to have doors slammed in his face — that’s all. 
Beg pardon for troubling you” 

Roy, with his usual impulsiveness, thrust his 
hand into his pocket, saying to himself : — 

“ It’s too bad — a fellow that has served through the 
war ! He’s a great deal worse off than I am. I saved 
half a dollar by tinkering that clock — I might give 
him that.” 

The man, expecting alms from the motion of Roy’s 
hand, had stopped talking. This gave Roy a chance 
to think. He remembered Lassarde’s horse 


128 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“I’ve only three dollars and a half left. I can’t 
afford to fool away any more money. I’ll be tight as 
the bark of a tree now.” 

And he took his hand out of his pocket. The man 
noticed that no money came with it, and resumed : — 

“ I hain’t had a mouthful to eat since seven o’clock 
this morning. I thought starvation in an enemy’s 
prison was bad enough, but starvation for a poor, 
wounded soldier in his own country goes to his heart 
a good deal worse. Where I’m going to get supper 
and a night’s lodging is more than I know.” 

Once more into the pocket went the ready hand, 
and this time the half-dollar came out. 

“ Here, take it before I change my mind again,” 
Roy said, in a hurried voice. “ ’Tisn’t much; but it 
will get you a supper, and may be a night’s lodging 
somewhere. Better luck to you ! ” 

The man took the money, and was so profuse in his 
expressions of gratitude that Roy hastened on in order 
not to hear them. 

He was weary enough to think early of his own 
supper and lodgings ; and, as the brief winter day de- 
clined, he stopped at another farm-house. 

Forgetting his experience of the morning, and re- 
membering rather too vividly his noonday adventure, 
he avoided a man he saw feeding cattle in a yard, pre- 
ferring to deal directly with the woman of the house. 

A freckled girl opened the door to him, and, stand- 
ing in the entry, screamed his errand to a woman he 
did not see in the room beyond. 


boy’s experience increases. 129 

“ Tell him we don’t keep stragglers,” the woman 
he did not see screamed back. 

Indignant and chagrined, Roy answered that he ex- 
pected to pay for his entertainment. 

“ Tell him this ain’t a tavern,” came the shrill re- 
sponse from the woman, still unseen. “ Come in, 
Angeliny, and shet that door ! ” 

Roy began to laugh. I am sorry to say of him that 
he could be rather impudent when provoked. 

“ Give me a glass of water, Angeliny. Come, that’s 
a good girl ! ” said he, with saucy familiarity. 

The freckled girl, who looked all the time as if she 
would have been glad to treat him more kindly, went 
in, shutting the door after her. Roy heard sharp 
words within ; then Angeliny returned, bringing 
water, not in a glass, but in a long-handled tin dipper. 

Roy laughed again as he took it. 

“ I should think,” said he, “ that this house would 
become noted for its hospitality to strangers. Thank 
ye, Angeliny ! ” He raised the dipper to his lips, but 
did not drink. “ Just the sight of water in so gor- 
geous a dish is refreshing ! ” 

“ ’Tain’t my fault ; she’s cross to-day,” whispered 
Angeliny. 

Roy threw out the untasted water, then found a 
two-cent piece in his pocket, and dropped it into the 
dipper, which he handed back to the girl. 

“ Please give that to her, with my compliments. 
Good-day, Angeliny ! ” 

And away went Roy, feeling now as if he could 

9 


130 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


walk all night, without a thought of supper, rather 
than stop at another farm-house. 

Entering a village, a mile farther on, he went 
straight to the only hotel in the place, called for a 
room, ordered supper, and sat down by the bar-room 
fire, resolved to end the first day of his journey com- 
fortably, reckless of consequences. 

With the evening came reflection ; and, with reflec- 
tion, misery. 

His supper was well enough, and yet it had not the 
relish of those well-remembered suppers at home. 
His room was cold, and had a musty smell. His bed 
was cold and hard, and he had headache and shivers 
on getting into it. 

There he lay, thinking of the home he had left, of 
Lis life-long friends, — Mabel, the good, indulgent 
doctor, his dear kind aunt, — wondering about him, 
blaming him, lamenting him perhaps even then ; of 
all the advantages he had forfeited, the benefits he 
had so foolishly flung away ; of the uncertain, gloomy 
future. 

Was it a very fine thing to get into a scrape, run 
away, and have adventures ? 

He recalled the young savages tattooed with the 
yolk of boiled eggs, who assisted at his breakfast ; the 
morose men and the terrible tripe at dinner ; the 
rebuff he got from the uncivil engineer ; the harsh- 
voiced, unseen woman of the last farm-house ; the 
dipper of water, and his own sarcastic impudence, 
which shamed him now, as he thought of it ; and he 


roy’s experience increases. 131 

asked himself, “ If these things happen to me while 
I have money, what am I to expect when my money 
is gone ? ” 

A talk he had overheard in the bar-room, all about 
hard times, men out of work, and the difficulty of get- 
ting work that winter, did not serve greatly to en- 
liven his future prospects. 

Thus, in spite of his good resolutions, the first day 
of his journey did not end quite so comfortably as 
might have been wished. 

A less stout-hearted lad would have been tempted 
to give over his adventure, steal home again, and 
throw himself on the mercy of his friends ; but Roy 
was made of different stuff. He was young and full 
of health, and sleep soon came to him in spite of his 
trouble. In the morning he awoke, a little languid, a 
trifle stiff in the limbs and sore on the soles of his feet, 
but with heart and brain refreshed, ready for another 
day’s hardships. 

His courage was slightly shaken when he paid his 
bill — two dollars for bed and supper and breakfast 5 
but he disbursed the amount with heroic cheerfulness 
of look, as he might have undergone a surgical opera- 
tion. 

He had now but one dollar in his pocket. 

As people grow light of purse they do not usually 
grow light of heart ; but, had you met Roy that morn- 
ing, walking out of the village, with his sachel on his 
side, and a bright face under his jaunty hat-rim, you 
would have thought him some gay fellow going forth 
to sure good fortune. 


132 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


He now began to inquire for work, and soon dis- 
covered that this was a good thing to do, even where 
no work was to be found, since it gave him an excuse 
for calling at farm-houses and shops, and getting a lit- 
tle rest, and perhaps a seat by the fire when he was 
cold and tired. 

At noon, a farmer, whom he asked for work, invited 
him to dinner, treated him with great kindness, and 
refused to take any of his money when he went away. 
This made him grateful, and filled him with remorse 
for his hasty judgment of farm-houses and farming 
people the day before. 

But it also made him feel like a beggar. 

“ If I keep on in this way,” he said to himself, “ I 
shall soon become an accomplished tramp.” 

Farmers had no work except getting out their 
year’s supply of wood, and taking care of their stock, 
and this they had ample leisure to do themselves. 
Village shops were overrun with idlers and men out 
of employment. 

Everywhere Roy was told, that, to get work at all, 
he must seek some manufacturing place, where some- 
thing might possibly be found. 

Toward a manufacturing town, therefore, Roy made 
his way, and entered it at dusk that evening, with 
seventy-five cents in his pocket. 

Avoiding the hotels, he found a cheap boarding 
house, where he was taken up three flights, and shown 
a bed in a large, square room, with three other beds, 
where, he was told, there were already five lodgers. 


hoy’s experience increases. 


133 


His heart sickened. He was for rushing out at 
once, and resuming his tramp. But, being told that 
he could have his bed all to himself, together with a 
whole wash-stand, bowl, and pitcher, he concluded to 
stay. There was only one looking-glass in the room, 
but he could take his chance at that with the other 
lodgers. Board, a dollar and a quarter a day, or five 
dollars a week. 

“ My seventy-five cents will last me about half a 
day,” Roy thought, but said nothing. 


134 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

ROY SEEKS EMPLOYMENT, AND FALLS IN WITH A PARTY OF 
PLEASURE. 

A FTER breakfast the next morning, Roy went 
out in search of employment. 

He visited a shovel-factory, a basket-factory, a spice- 
mill, and two cotton-mills, and received everywhere 
the discouraging answer, “ Nothing whatever for a 
green hand to do.” Even had he been acquainted 
with any of the kinds of business he canvassed, he 
would have found it hard to get work, the times were 
so dull. 

Other places he tried, and spent the forenoon in go- 
ing about on his disheartening errand. 

At twelve o’clock he was back at his boarding- 
house, tired and faint enough, yet with a poor appe- 
tite for his landlady’s dinner. 

He had for his fellow-boarders some of the work- 
men in the factories where he had sought employ- 
ment ; and he — the dainty and delicate Roy — found 
himself now in a situation to envy these men their 
good fortune. What would Mabel have said? 

It was Saturday, and Roy thought : — 


ROY SEEKS EMPLOYMENT. 


135 


“ To-morrow is Sunday ; if I don’t find some way 
of paying my board, and getting away this afternoon, 
I shall be kept here till next week, running up a bill 
which I never shall be able to pay.” 

He had one resource. He could sell his watch. 
But it was a plain silver watch, and he could not hope 
that it would bring much. Moreover, it was a gift 
from his uncle, for which reason he did not like to 
part with it. 

On going out after dinner, he found that it was a 
sort of holiday, several of the factories which were 
running on reduced time being closed that afternoon. 

A feeling of consternation came over Roy. Sun- 
day with him had practically begun. How could he 
look for work when the mills were closed ? 

Not knowing what else to do, he walked into a 
jeweler’s shop, and pulled out his watch. 

“ How much can I get for that? ” he asked, show- 
ing it to a stout man, with an immense bald forehead, 
standing behind the counter. 

The man examined it, and passed it back to him. 

“ Old watches are not of much account to us. I 
couldn’t give you what it is worth.” 

“ I know ; but you will give something.” 

The jeweler looked at the watch again, listened 
with critical ear to the movement, and said, laugh- 
ingly : — 

“ A dollar. I wouldn’t venture any more than 
that.” 

Roy thanked him, smiled, returned the poor old 
watch to his fob, and walked out of the shop. 


136 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


He noticed a good many people going up a certain 
street — men and women and boys and girls, some 
with skates, some with sleds, and some with neither 
skates nor sleds. Many were on foot, a few were in 
sleighs, and some, he. noticed, patronized a long open 
conveyance on two sets of runners, bearing a placard, 
“To the Reservoir, 5 cents.” 

The driver held up his thumb to Roy. Roy nodded. 
He was reckless. If it had been the last ride of his 
life, and had cost his last five cents, he would have 
taken it. 

“ Where is all this crowd going ? ” he asked a young 
lady, at whose side he found himself seated. 

“ To the Reservoir,” she replied. 

“ I know,” said Roy. “ But what’s at the Reser- 
voir?” 

“ Skating, of course.” The young lady smiled. 
“ You’re a stranger here, I guess ? ” 

“You guess right,” replied Roy. 

Having scrutinized him, and found him not ill- 
looking, nor impolite in speech or manner, she seemed 
willing to continue the conversation. 

“ Can you skate? ” she asked. 

“ A little,” he replied. 

“ There’s going to be a chance for some tall 
skating this afternoon,” she continued. “ It’s club- 
day.” 

“ What’s club-day?” 

“ Don’t you know ? — the skating-club. They’ve 
offered some magnificent prizes — four or five prizes, 
I believe.” 


ROY SEEKS EMPLOYMENT. 


187 


“ To members of the club, I suppose.” 

“ To anybody ; ladies included. There’s two prizes 
for ladies, — one for fast skating and one for fancy 
skating. One of the judges is an intimate friend of 
mine.” 

“ There’ll be a chance for you to win a prize,” said 
Roy, glancing at the young lady’s skates ; for she 
took pains to show an elegant pair as she spoke. 

“ I don’t know,” she answered. “ There’s many 
better skaters than me. But I’m going to do my per- 
tiest this afternoon.” 

Roy noticed that the young lady’s language was 
not wholly correct in its syntax, not quite free from 
the innocent slang which falls so limpid from a 
young girl’s lips. But he was not inclined to be 
critical. 

“ What are the prizes?” he asked. 

“ For the ladies, the first prize is a pair of very nice 
skates. The second prize is a flower-vase — one of 
the pertiest little things you ever set eyes on. I’m 
going in for the second prize. I don’t expect I could 
grab the first, if I tried ; and I’d rather have the vase 
than the skates, any way.” 

“You seem to be well provided with skates, al- 
ready,” said Roy. “ What are the other prizes?” 

“ For the fellers? What are the prizes for the fel- 
lers, Obed?” said the young lady, turning to a youth 
sitting at her other side. 

“ What you want to know about the fellers’ prizes 
for ? ” was the gruff response. 


138 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Obed was glum. Obed was evidently fond of the 
young lady, and seemed to think she had been neglect- 
ing him for a stranger. 

“ Now, Obadiah, you’re real mean ! If you don’t 
give me a more civil answer than that, I never’ll speak 
to you agin ” (she actually said agin ) “ as long as I 
live.” 

“ If you don’t like it you may lump it,” said Obed. 
“ I don’t see what you want to know about the fel- 
lers’ prizes for ; you ain’t a feller.” 

To show that he wasn’t ill natured, nor any thing 
of the kind, Obed uttered these last words with a sort 
of snort, intended for a laugh. 

The young lady sat erect, red and resentful, and 
looking straight before her, as if wholly unconscious 
of Obed’s existence forevermore. Another young 
man, sitting opposite, now volunteered the informa- 
tion Obed had so surlily refused. 

“ There’s three prizes for men and boys, Miss Ho- 
gan. First prize, open to all competitors, a pair of 
skates worth seven dollars, for the quickest time in a 
three-mile race. Second prize, a silver cup worth ten 
dollars, for the best fancy skating. Third prize, for 
boys, age not over seventeen, or weight not over one 
hundred and fifteen pounds, a pair of skates worth 
five dollars, for the quickest time in a two-mile race. 
That’s all, I believe, Miss Hogan.” 

“ I’m ever so much obliged to you, Mr. Derby ! ” 
replied Miss Hogan. “ It is so refreshing to find po- 
liteness hain’t quite gone out of fashion with the 


BOY SEEKS EMPLOYMENT. 


139 


gentlemen. I’m very , veby much obliged to you in- 
deed ! ” 

And, graciously unbending, she seemed anxious to 
lavish at once upon Mr. Derby all the smiles which 
Obadiah had forfeited for the remainder of his blighted 
existence. 


140 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XX. 

WHAT PROMISES TO BE AN “AWFUL SCRAPE.” 

T HEY had now arrived at the skating-ground. 

The passengers appearing in no haste to leave 
their seats, the driver cried : — 

“ Pile out now! I’ve got to hurry back and bring 
two more loads ’fore the show begins.” 

They “piled out” accordingly. 

Miss Hogan seemed inclined to avoid Obed, who 
was still glum, and to keep near Roy, who was gra- 
cious; and they stepped down upon the ice together. 
Every little while she cast a sly glance back at the 
surly lover, when, if he happened to be looking toward 
her, she would put on airs of wonderful freshness and 
vivacity, designed to let him know that, if he chose to 
be churlish, he was quite welcome — she had finer 
strings for her bow. 

She grew very familiar with Roy upon a short ac- 
quaintance; and, sitting down upon a sled, she allowed 
him to buckle her skate-straps for her. Of course she 
didn’t see or care in the least how Obed glowered at 
the sight of her foot in Roy’s hand. 

“ There, that’s so nice ! Oh, bow I do wish you 


WHAT PROMISES TO BE A “SCRAPE.” 141 

had a pair of skates now ! For I’m sure you can 
skate,” she insisted ; “ I see it in your eye.” 

“ I’d show you how much you are mistaken, if I 
could borrow a pair,” said Roy, growing excited. 

“ You can hire a pair, I guess, right here at the 
club-house.” 

The poverty-stricken Roy began to think that he 
didn’t care to skate. But she urged him, and they 
went to the club-house. 

To the relief of his mind, divided between desire 
and prudence, and to the disappointment of the young 
lady, the last pair of skates was out. 

“ Oh, I know !” she cried. “ Obed shall lend you 
his. He can’t skate. I’ll ask him.” 

Roy begged her not to ; and, indeed, he hardly be- 
lieved she would, after what had happened. 

But Miss Hogan put on a sweet smile, and, walking 
up to Obed, who stood gloomily watching the crowd, 
showed that she could be either very forgiving or very 
politic when she had a point to gain. 

Roy did not hear her request ; but Obed’s coarse 
and scoffing answer came distinctly to his ears. 

“ Lend him my skates ! Ho ! ho ! that’s too rich ! 
Come now ! ” 

Miss Hogan came sailing back, so serene that Roy 
concluded that she had, after all, merely shown her 
willingness to annoy her jealous adorer still more. 

“ I didn’t expect he would,” she said; “ but, when a 
feller’s right down mean, I like to have him show it. 
Oh ! there’s my brother ! Here, Tod, a minute ! ” 


142 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ What ye want o’ me ? ” said Tod, a red-cheeked, 
chubby lad of fifteen, sliding up to her on a pretty 
good pair of “ rockers.” 

“ You ain’t going to try for the prizes, and I want 
you to lend this gentleman your skates — that’s a 
good feller, Tod ! ” 

“ Oh, you git out ! I want my skates myself; ” and 
away went Tod, while his sister screamed after him : — 

“ You don’t git no more favors out of me, see now 
if you do, Tod Hogan ! ” 

Just then a boy, not more than twelve years old, 
poorly clad, with red hair and freckled features, 
said to Roy : — 

“ I’ll let you take my skates, if you can use them ; 
I’m getting a little tired.” 

“ Oh, the gentleman can’t do any thing with your 
skates ! ” said Miss Hogan, contemptuously. 

The lad drew back, abashed, but without any show 
of resentment, merely saying : — 

“ I know they ain’t a very good pair, but they’re 
the best I have, and I thought ’twouldn’t do any hurt 
to offer ’em.” 

“ Here, bub ! ” Roy called after him. “ Let me look 
at your skates, and thank you, anyway. Good heel- 
screws? ” 

“ Perty good,” said the boy. 

“ Shouldn’t wonder if I could make ’em do,” said 
Roy. “ Got a gimlet? ” 

“ I hain’t got no gimlet, but I can borrow one for 
ye.” 


143 


WHAT PROMISES TO BE A “SCRAPE.” 

In five minutes Roy had holes in the heels of his 
boots, and the skates strapped to his feet. 

“ I wish you had a better pair,” said Miss Hogan, 
for the twentieth time, as he got up on his feet. 

“ They’re better than no skates at all,” said Roy, 
giving a little whirl on one foot, and turning round in 
a short curve backwards. “ But how am I ever to re- 
turn the favor, bub ? ” 

“ Oh, never mind about that; ” said the boy, grin- 
ning with real pleasure at the thought of doing a 
stranger a kindness. “ Somebody may as well be hav- 
ing a little fun with ’em while I’m resting.” 

“ I see you can skate ; I told you so ! ” said Miss 
Hogan, as Roy went curveting around, trying his 
irons. “ You must go in for the prizes. Oh! here’s 
my friend — one of the judges. If I knew your name 
I’d introduce you.” 

“ Walker,” said Roy, who, I regret to relate, had 
been sailing under false colors lately. “A. T. 
Walker ” was the name he had registered at the hotel 
where he stopped the first night (“ I am a Walker, 
anyway,” he had said to his conscience then — “4 
Tremendous Walker! ”) ; and he had kept it ever since, 
though I have not learned that he ever wrote out the 
middle name in full. 

The introduction took place ; and Mr. Bilder — • 
that was the name of Miss Hogan’s friend — asked if 
Mr. Walker intended to enter for the i)rizes. 

“I may try my hand, or rather foot,” replied Roy, 
carelessly. 


144 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Have yon paid your fee, and had your name en- 
tered? ” said Mr. Bilder. 

“ No,” said Roy. “ Is that necessary ? ” 

“Oh, certainly.” 

“ How much is the fee ? ” 

“ That is moderate ; there must be a fund to pay 
for the prizes, you understand, — only a dollar.” 

“ I don’t believe I have a dollar with me;” and Roy 
took out his pocket-book with the air of a man ac- 
customed to handling so much money that he couldn’t 
always tell within half a million or so how much cash 
he had on hand. “No, I’ve only seventy cents ; and it 
won’t be worth while for me to go back to my hotel 
for more.” As if he could have got any quantity had 
he seen fit to take that slight trouble. 

“ If you enter for only the boys’ prize, that’s half a 
dollar,” Mr. Bilder explained. “ A dollar opens all 
the prizes to you.” 

“Oh, I want Mr. Walker to enter for the main 
prizes,” Miss Hogan insisted, as if she had taken Roy 
under her especial patronage. “ I’ve got thirty cents 
right here in my pocket. Here, Mr. Bilder, you take 
it with his seventy cents, and go and have his name 
entered. You’ll oblige me very much, Mr. Bilder.” 

And, almost before Roy knew it, and against his 
better judgment, Bilder had gone with the money. 

Roy was appalled at the thought of his rashness the 
moment it was too late to recall his hasty consent. 

“ My very last cent — thirty cents in debt to a 
stranger, and a young lady — I must be insane!” 


WHAT PROMISES TO BE A “SCRAPE.” 145 

thought he. Then, with a smile, he said to his fair pro- 
tectress, “ I ought to take your address, Miss Hogan, 
so that I can call and hand you the money you have 
been so very kind as to lend me.” 

“ I ain’t at all partic’lar about the money,” said 
Miss Hogan. “ But I should be pleased to have you 
call. My address is No. 37 Harrison Street. It’s a 
boarding-house, but I ain’t one of the boarders. My 
mother keeps it.” 

Roy did not quite lose his self-possession. Yet his 
smile grew comically confused and uncertain as he 
repeated: — 

“ Harrison Street — thirty-seven? Thank you. It 
will give me great pleas — I’ll be sure to call ! ” 

He was excited enough to laugh inwardly at the 
ludicrousness of the situation, and yet there was a 
serious side to it which made him anxious. 

To hide his emotions, he whirled away on his skates, 
saying to himself : — 

“I’m one of her mother’s boarders! And I’ve 
talked of my hotel ! and I’ve borrowed her thirty 
cents under false pretenses ! If I don't win one of 
the prizes now, I’m in an awful scrape ! ” 


10 


146 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A RACE ON SKATES. 

T HE afternoon sport was to begin with the grand 
three-mile race for the first prize. 

Fifteen candidates for this prize answered the call, 
and ranged themselves in a row along the shore, be- 
side the club-house. At a signal called a “gun,” 
from a huge, churn-shaped horn, blown by a stroke of 
the dasher, they were to start, go straight up the pond 
to a flag-stake in a distant cove, round it, pass down 
a wooded shore at the right to a second flag-stake, 
turn that, then cross the pond to a third flag-stake 
near some ice-houses, on the opposite shore, skate 
from there to the first stake again, repeat the circuit, 
and, having passed the first stake for the third time, 
return to the original line. He who should first 
cross that line, would be entitled to the prize. 

Roy was at one end of the row. Glancing across 
to see what sort of a looking set his competitors were, 
he smiled to see Obed at the other end. 

“All ready?” shouted a loud voice from the door 
of the club-house. “ There will be three guns at 
intervals of about a second. At the third gun, 
start! ” 


A RACE ON SKATES. 


147 


The shore and the ice along the shore, the door and 
windows of the club-house, and the float before it — 
for it was really a boat-club house, and there was a 
great raft of planks frozen in the ice — were crowded 
with spectators. Each competitor — with one or two 
exceptions — seemed to have a circle of friends, all 
waiting eagerly to witness his success in the race. 
Roy was one of the exceptions. He was a stranger to 
everybody. Two persons there were, however, who 
showed an interest even in him. One was his fair 
patroness, Miss Florinda Hogan (he had learned her 
first name by this time) ; the other was the boy who 
had loaned him the skates, and who had now taken 
charge of his overcoat. The churn-shaped horn was 
placed on the float. A stout pair of hands grasped 
the cross-piece of the dasher. 

“Toot!” went the first “gun.” Every skater 
stood with braced feet and strained nerves. 

“ Toot! ” number two. Some of the more nervous 
made a false start, and had to return to position. 

“Toot!” third and last; and the sudden darting 
out of legs, leaning forward of bodies, and general 
shooting ahead of the whole line, was something won- 
derful to witness. 

The river rang with cheers, and shouts of laughter 
followed. Three or four of the skaters, notwithstand- 
ing the liberal spaces between them at the start, had 
run into each other, and two were left sprawling on 
the ice. Three others fell out before the first stake 
was turned. 


148 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Only ten were now left. These were no longer in 
line ; but three led the rest, while one — a resolute, 
steady-going, stout man — was well behind. 

Of the three foremost, one fell back. It was Obed. 
Jealousy and rage had nerved him at the start; but 
he had quickly given out, and, furious, baffled, blown, 
he could only struggle and gasp and stare as others 
now shot by him, and the foremost two met him on 
their return, having rounded the first stake. 

One of these two was Roy. It would have be^n 
hard to say which was ahead. But, at the second 
stake, the question was more easily determined. Roy 
distanced his competitor by a horse’s length. 

A few cheers greeted him as he passed before the 
crowd of spectators, crossing over to the third stake, 
now fairly leading the race. 

“ Who is that chap, anyway ? ” 

“ Stranger in town — name’s Walker.” 

“Friend of Miss Hogan.” 

“ Had to borrow an old pair of skates. But, by 
jingo ! he makes ’em hum, don’t he ! ” 

Such were some of the comments he might have 
heard if he had had leisure to listen as he sped by. 

Before the third stake was passed, four others had 
fallen out. There were only six competitors now ; 
Roy first, steady-going stout man last. When any 
skaters lost ground so far as to be overtaken by the 
steady-goer, they seemed to consider any further ef- 
forts on their part ridiculous, and drew off with the 
best grace they could. 


A RACE ON SKATES. 


149 


There was one exception — Obed. Him the stout 
man passed; but Obed stolidly plodded on, till at 
length he heard another skater coming up. 

Who could it be? For Obed had supposed him- 
self hindmost now. Nearer, nearer came the skip- 
ping and ringing irons, and presently a light, graceful 
form went skimming by. 

It was Roy, making his second circuit before Obed 
had completed his first. Then Obed, in sullen de- 
spair, turned off toward the wooded shore. 

As Roy crossed the pond on his last round, he was 
greeted with enthusiastic cheers. He had now but four 
competitors — stout man still in the rear. But one 
thing was noticeable — Roy was no longer gaining on 
the stout man. They were a dozen rods apart, and 
appeared to keep about that distance between them 
as they went from the third up to the first stake again. 

The other three were gradually losing ground ; and 
they were all passed by the stout man before he had 
rounded the first stake for the last time. They did 
not, however, fall out of the race as the others had 
done : it was beginning to be thought respectable to 
keep in, even if the steady-goer had gone ahead. 

There was a tremendous outcry from the shore as 
the two leaders passed the upper stake. But it was 
the stout man, this time, who got the cheers. Roy 
was no longer gaining on him ; he was gaining on Roy. 

Roy had, in fact, been losing speed a little since his 
first round. Steady-goer, on the contrary, was the 
same steady goer he had appeared at the outset. He 


150 


BOUND IN HONOE. 


had even increased his velocity a little. He was now 
increasing it a good deal. 

Roy saw his danger, Unfortunately, he had already 
put forth all his strength, while the stout man had 
force still in reserve. 

The cheering became confused and frantic; and 
skaters, who went up the course to meet them, greeted 
both competitors as they flew by on wings of wind. 

“ Go it, Goliath ! ” 

“ Walk in, Walker ! ” 

“ Now’s your chance, little one ! ” 

“ Swallow him, Sweepstakes ! ” 

The home-line was not more than five or six rods 
off. Roy was still ahead — losing, but not losing so 
fast as he had been. He had rallied all his forces of 
body and spirit for the final struggle ; for the spirit 
enters wondrously into such things. He did not see 
Miss Hogan’s handkerchief fluttering to cheer him on. 
The crowd looked misty before him ; the ice began to 
turn black. Just then a stick from the wooded shore 
same sliding along the ice. 

Roy did not see the stick ; he could not see any 
thing then. He struck it with his skate, whirled, al- 
most fell, recovered himself, and skated away again, 
striking out wildly — in the wrong direction. 

Roy heard a final peal of applause, which told him 
that somebody had won. It was several seconds be- 
fore he knew that it was not he, but the stout man. 

On the very verge of winning, he had gone off parallel 
with the line, instead of crossing it, after the stick 



THE RACE ON SKATES. — Page 150. 








A KACE ON SKATES. 151 

struck his skate. He did not cross the line at all. 
Even the skaters in his rear got home before him. 

There was a great outburst of indignation ; but it 
was some time before Roy knew what it was all about. 

“A stick hit your skate, and threw you out!” said 
a sympathizing voice. 

He knew it was the voice of Miss Hogan, though 
he could see only something black pass before him. 

“ Did there? I thought so ! Who flung it?” 

“I wish I knew! You’d have won, sure as guns, 
if it hadn’t been for that; and I say it’s too bad ! ” ex- 
claimed the fair Florinda. 

Mr. Bilder, coming up, warmly congratulated Roy 
on his splendid run, and denounced the author of the 
mischief which had prevented his complete success. 

“ I should like to know something more about that 
stick!” said Roy. “It might have caused me to 
break my neck.” 

He went over toward the wooded shore, and sailed 
in amid the shifting crowd. Mr. Bilder accom- 
panied him, and demanded who had thrown the stick 
or seen it thrown. 

Nobody knew. Some had seen it slide by them on 
the ice ; but all had been too intent watching the race 
to look round and notice any thing more. 

“ It seems that either I have an enemy on the pond,” 
said Roy, “ or that one of the other candidates has a 
too zealous friend. Don’t trouble yourself any fur- 
ther, Mr. Bilder.” 


152 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

THE SECOND TRIAL. 

R OY now went for his overcoat to the red-headed 
boy who had it in charge. 

“ You’d like your skates now, wouldn’t you, bub? ” 
“No,” said the boy, “not if you want to use ’em. 
It’s more fun for me to see you than to skate myself.” 

“ Well, thank you, bub. I’ll try ’em again, or else 
take ’em off after I’ve rested a little.” 

And Roy, having put on his coat, threw himself 
down on the ice, recklessly, boylike. 

“ Oh, dear, Mr. Walker !” the fair Florinda remon- 
strated. “ You’ll ketch your death-cold ! Do come 
into the boat-house, Mr. Walker!” 

As he declined to take this care of himself, she ran 
for her friend, Mr. Bilder, who presently returned 
with her, bringing a heavy sleigh-robe for Roy. 

“ This is luxury l ” said Roy, rolling himself up in 
it, and then lying at full length, supported on his 
elbow. “ Miss Hogan, you and your friend are very 
kind to a stranger ! ” 

“ Don’t say stranger ; I feel as if I had known you 
half my life,” smiled the fair Florinda. 


THE SECOND TRIAL. 


153 


“ There’s a good deal of talk about the race,” said 
Mr. Bilder. 

“ Yes, I hear a little of it,” laughed Roy. “ Some 
think I might have won if it hadn’t been for the 
stick, and some that I couldn’t have won anyway.” 

“ The prize hasn’t been awarded yet,” replied Mr. 
Bilder. “ Mr. Purley is very fair about it. He says 
he is by no means sure he would have won, if there’d 
been no accident ; and, if you wish, or the judges re- 
quire it, he’s perfectly willing to skate with you again 
for the prize.” 

“He’s very obliging,” said Roy; “but I can’t ac- 
cept his offer. The prize is fairly his own. He 
would beat me, I know, in a second race ; and he 
would have beaten me in that, without any doubt, if 
we had had to go over the course again.” 

“ You are very generous, Mr. Walker ; and, if that 
is your decision, it will simplify the matter a good 
deal in the minds of the judges.” 

“ It is my decision,” said Roy. 

And Mr. Bilder withdrew. 

“ What are those fellows saying, bub ? ” Roy asked. 

Bub, who had been listening to a loud-talking 
group, did not like to tell what they said. Roy urged 
him. 

“ Well, you mustn’t mind — it’s all nonsense,” he 
replied. “One said that the stick never hit your 
skate at all ; that you only pretended it did, after you 
found you was beat. Some of the others said they 
saw and heard it ; then he said you went out of your 


154 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


way to stumble over it, and told how you swung 
round out of the course.” 

“ What did the others say to that ? ” 

“ He’s got some friends, they joined in ; the rest 
laughed at him.” 

“ Who is he ? — what’s his name ? ” 

“ It’s Miss Hogan’s feller, Obadiah Hocum.” 

“ Hocum ? ” repeated Roy, not well pleased to be 
thus reminded of his old friend, Miles, the selectman. 
“ Nobody of that name ever did me a good turn.” 

“ I can tell you something I think you ought to 
know,” said the boy, confidentially, “ about that stick.” 

“ Ah ! you know who flung it? ” 

“ I don’t know, but I think. When Obed gave up 
the race, he turned off down that shore ; and I see him 
pick up jest such a stick as that, and go sliding along 
with it. I didn’t think any more of it till after the 
stick was thown. Then I see Obed skating on behind 
the crowd toward the club-house ; and he didn’t have 
any stick in his hand.” 

“ Ah?” breathed Roy again. “ I expected as much.” 

Miss Hogan did not hear this talk, having gone to 
answer a call for ladies intending to enter the lists. 

For ladies and girls, there was to be but one trial of 
skill; and the prizes were to be awarded, not for 
speed, but for artistic excellence and grace. This 
trial was to come off now, in order to give breathing 
time to such male competitors in the previous race as 
might wish to enter the lists for either of the other 
prizes. 


THE SECOND TRIAL. 


155 


Roy was rested and on his feet in time to witness 
the evolutions of the lady skaters. Miss Hogan had 
been so kind to him that he felt a lively interest in 
her success. But it was evident, at the outset, that 
there were several better skaters on the ice than she ; 
while there was one who surpassed, by many degrees, 
both in swiftness, and grace and skill in difficult feats, 
all the rest. 

“Miss Dilworthy — Judge Dil worthy’s daughter!” 
Roy heard whispered ; and then the applause at her 
performance burst forth. 

Roy clapped his hands longer and louder than 
anybody else. Miss Hogan gave him a reproachful 
look. She knew he was not clapping for her. 

Miss Dilworthy came off in triumph. She was 
young (not more than sixteen), lithe as a leopardess, 
red as a rose, charmingly attired in a short skating- 
skirt of blue thibet, and she. was laughing gayly as 
she flew to her waiting friends. One of these — a 
middle-aged gentleman, in a great fur collar, — caught 
her in his arms, gave her a kiss, and threw a mantle 
of furs over her pretty shoulders. 

“That’s Judge Dilworthy — that’s her father,” 
Roy’s friend informed him. “ That boy is her 
brother. I wish I had a pair of skates like his to lend 
you. Then nobody could beat you, I bet.” 

“ I wish you had such a pair for yourself,” said Roy. 

He had almost forgotten Miss Hogan, when, seeing 
her pass, he skated up to her, and said what he could — 
indeed I am afraid, a little too much — in praise of 
her performance. 


156 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ I know I didn’t do at all well,” said Florinda. 
“ Lucy Dil worthy took the shine off all of us. Th’ 
ain’t one can come within gun-shot of her. I saw 
you cheering her. You didn’t cheer me a bit.” 

And Miss Hogan pouted. 

Next in order came the two-mile race. Roy had 
resolved to take part in it, foolishly, perhaps, since he 
intended to compete afterward for the cup, to win 
which might require all his reserved force. 

Platform scales were placed on the float ; and Roy 
went with other candidates to be weighed. He 
knew that his weight was only one hundred and 
twelve pounds a few days before he left home. He 
did not think he could have gained much flesh since. 

He found that he had, in fact, lost two pounds, — 
less than he expected. He knew that he was not to 
have the steady-going, stout man against him in this 
race, and, he had not much fear of anybody else. 

“ Keep your eye on Obadiah, bub,” he said, as he 
once more left his coat in charge of his young friend. 

Roy did not lay out so much strength at the start 
in this race ; and, at the end of the first round, he 
found himself number four, with a shoal of young 
fellows scattered over the course behind him. 

“ Walker’s played out — used up in the first race,” 
he heard somebody say, as he passed a knot of specta- 
tors. The speaker was Obed. 

Roy laughed in his sleeve. He was in the steady- 
going line himself this time. He knew just what he 
could do ; he had gauged his rivals. 


THE SECOND TRIAL. 


157 


Only two were before him when he turned the last 
stake and started on the home-stretch. Suddenly his 
feet seemed to take wings. First, one leader was 
passed, then the next, within three rods of the line. 
Approaching that, Roy sprang into the air as if it had 
been a low fence, made a clear forward leap of at 
least fifteen feet, and brought up on his heels by the 
shore, amid such a tumult of applause as had not 
been heard before that day. 

Those who had sympathized with him on account 
of the accident which lost him the first prize, rejoiced 
all the more at this well-deserved success. 

The ice had not turned black to him this time ; and, 
looking around, he was thrilled from head to foot to 
see pretty Miss Dilworthy smiling and fluttering her 
handkerchief. Florinda was fluttering her handker- 
chief, too, but somehow the ungrateful wretch did not 
care so much for that. 

“ Your prize is awarded and waiting for you,’’ said 
Mr. Bilder, coming to congratulate him. 

“ I’m glad of that,” replied Roy ; “ for I want a 
different style of irons for the work that comes next.” 

It was a fine pair of club-skates, unincumbered with 
straps, but clasped to the boot, each by means of a 
spring-latch, which could be worked almost instantly 
after they had been fitted to the sole. 

“'Beauties ! ” cried Roy, delighted, as he sat down 
on the steps of the boat-house. “Now, bub, we have 
a pair of skates apiece.” 


158 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

WHAT OUR HERO DID WITH THE PRIZE SKATES. 

R OY’S young friend seemed even more rejoiced 
at his success than Roy himself. He put on 
his old skates again, and then watched his friend ad- 
justing the claws of the new pair with a key, the use 
of which Roy understood, for he had seen that pattern 
of skates before. When at length the new pair were 
on, and Roy felt them under his feet on the smooth 
ice, he said nothing, but smiled. 

He could not help glancing around for his stout 
rival in the first race. 

44 JYow, if Mr. Purley should offer to skate with me 
again for the prize he won, he might stand a chance 
to lose it,” thought he. 44 Ah ! he is going in for the 
big prize.” 

In the fancy skating which was to follow, but few 
special feats were required of the performers, who 
were left free to introduce new and surprising feats 
of their own. 

There were only seven competitors for the silver 
cup. The order in which they were first to appear 
was decided by lot; each having the privilege of re- 


WHAT ROY DID WITH THE PRIZE SKATES. 159 

appearing and bettering his performance, or imitating 
any tricks he had seen the others attempt. 

Stout Mr. Purley drew the lowest number from the 
hat. He accordingly led off. 

Those who did not reflect that weight of body, up 
to a certain point, is an advantage to the skater, giv- 
ing him power of movement and steadiness of poise, 
were astonished by this man’s easy evolutions. His 
style, however, was rather large and plain — “just re- 
spectable,” thought Roy. 

Others followed, superior to him in some respects, 
— one doing this thing better ; and another, that, — 
but none surpassing him, perhaps, on the whole. 

Roy was fifth on the list. He confined himself at 
first to the few prescribed movements, which he did 
with a certain forceful ease, but perhaps with not 
more skill than was shown by those who had practiced 
them in advance for this occasion. He then went 
through with the most difficult voluntary tricks he 
had caught from the rest, and withdrew from the ring, 
giving place to his successor. 

Neither of the candidates added much to his repu- 
tation, on a second appearance, until Roy’s turn came 
again. Hitherto, he had simply done what was re- 
quired, or copied others. Now, he struck out boldly 
into a style of his own. Such swiftness, such agility, 
such freedom and grace, had never been known on 
that ice before. 

He took up some of the previous familiar tricks, 
disguised them in brilliant oramentation, which re- 


160 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


minded beholders of well-known tunes played “ with 
variations” by a skilled musician. On one foot or 
both feet, outside or inside edge, forward or back- 
ward, he was equally at home. Sometimes he would 
go through with a long performance on one foot, 
whirling with great velocit}^, then darting off in 
scrolls and 3’s and 8’s, using, all the time, his other 
foot as a sort of crank to turn and propel himself, by 
making sweeps and circles in the air. 

One of the set figures had been this — to describe a 
circle with the face toward the center, the toes point- 
ing outward, and from that to strike off into a single 
straight line, the toes still pointing in opposite direc- 
tions, and the heel of one skate following the heel of 
the other. Roy now repeated this, and, forcing his 
toes still more about, ended with an opposite circle, 
having his back toward the center, — an infinitely 
more difficult achievement. 

In the midst of the applause which followed, Roy 
skated up to Mr. Bilder, and said, — 

“ Will you please introduce me to the young lady 
who won the first prize?” 

He was presented to Miss Dilworthy. 

“I noticed that you could take the waltzing-step 
on skates. Will you do me the favor to waltz with me ? ” 
The young lady smiled, and looked inquiringly at 
her father. The judge nodded pleasantly, “ If you 
like, my dear ; ” and Roy took out his partner. 

The last feat had been difficult, but not pleasing. 
What followed was by no means so hard to do, but it 


WHAT ROY DID WITH THE PRIZE SKATES. 161 

was the most charming thing of all — a waltz on the 
ice by two young and accomplished skaters. It was 
loudly applauded. Then, as Roy returned his part- 
ner to her friends, he said to her : — 

“ May I ask your first name and middle initial, if 
you have one, Miss Dilworthy? You will see what 
I want of them.” 

“ Lucy A.,” was the reply. 

At Roy’s request, a fine coat of powdered snow had 
been sifted over an oblong space on the ice. He now 
struck into this, and, beginning with a bold flourish, 
wrote, in bold characters, with his skates, — 



connecting the two lines with a scroll, and finishing 
with another graceful scroll, leaving the inscription to 
be read from the side where the three judges and Miss 
Dilworthy and her friends were standing. 

So pretty a compliment, so neatly executed, excited 
great admiration. 


11 


162 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ I am through, gentlemen,” cried Roy. “ There’s 
your copy.” 

A copy, we may add, which nobody had the cour- 
age to imitate. 

“Oh, dear!” said Miss Hogan, pouting again, as 
Roy went to speak with her, “ why didn’t you write 
my name on the ice, for all to read ? ” 

“ I thought of it,” replied Roy ; “ but I felt I 
wasn’t up to Florinda — it’s too long a name.” 

“ I wish you could,” murmured Miss Hogan. “ It 
would have been glory enough for one while ; and 
wouldn’t it have paid Obed, though ! ” 

Roy thought Obed looked as if he were paid al- 
ready. 

“ Here, bub, are your skates,” said Roy, unclasping 
the lately won pair from his boots. 

“ My skates ! What do you mean ?” said the boy. 

“ It was your old pair that won the new ones ; they 
belong to you.” 

“ Oh ! but I can’t take ’em ! ” 

“Oh, but you must!” and Roy, laughing, thrust 
the shining new skates into the boy’s hands. 

“ Now, Tod Hogan,” said Florinda to her chubby- 
cheeked brother, “ don’t you wish you had lent Mr. 
Walker your pair? See what you get by being 
mean, and refusing me a favor.” 

“ How did I know he would win a prize for a fel- 
ler?” retorted the youngster. 


THE ADVENTURES OF A SILVER CUP. 163 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

THE ADVENTURES OF A SILVER CUP, AND THE INCONVEN- 
IENCE OF BEARING TWO NAMES. 



S Roy was showing the happy possessor of the 


JT\. new skates how to adjust the clasps, Mr. Bilder 
came, bringing the silver cup. It was a very pretty 
thing, richly embossed, and gold-lined, with a plain 
space left on the bowl for an inscription. 

“ We propose to have it engraved at our expense,” 
said Mr. Bilder. “You can leave it at the jeweler’s 
with the order, or I will attend to it.” 

“ I didn’t know I had won the prize,” said Roy, 
modestly. 

“ You must know very well that nobody on the ice 
to-day could take it from you. Here is my idea of the 
inscription,” — Mr. Bilder showed a piece of paper — 
“ commemorating the event in a few words. I have 
left a blank for your name, Mr. Walker; you may 
wish to have it engraved in full.” 

“ I will consider that ; thank you. I think — I will 
take it to the jeweler’s,” said Roy, stammering slightly 
and blushing a good deal. 

The cup was handed around among the bystanders, 


164 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


and highly praised. Roy then buttoned it under the 
lapel of his coat, left the ice as quietly as he could, 
and walked back to town. 

Once more he entered the jeweler’s shop. This 
time there was only a small boy behind the counter. 

“ Where’s the boss?” Roy inquired. 

“ Skating up on the Reservoir.” 

“ I’ll call again.” Just as Roy was passing out, he 
met a stout gentleman coming in. It was he who had 
carried off the first prize. 

“ Glad to see you again, Mr. Walker ! ” 

So saying, the steady-goer took off his cap, and 
showed an immense bald forehead — the most notice- 
able feature of his face. 

The forehead Roy recognized. It was that of the 
jeweler himself, whose sign, Roy now remembered, 
bore the name of his steady-going rival. 

Though somewhat disconcerted by the discovery, 
he rallied quickly, and said : — 

“ That was a very handsome offer you made, Mr. 
Purley, to skate with me again, for the first prize. 
Allow me to thank you, sir.” 

“ No occasion for that. I should have been sorry, 
Mr. Walker, to take the prize under such circum- 
stances, if you had wished another trial.” 

“ I did not recognize you up there,” said Roy. 

“ Nor I you until you put your overcoat on,” Mr. 
Purley replied. “ Then it occurred to me that you 
were the young man who gave me a call here before 
the skating match. But, when you gave the skates 
away, I rather thought I was mistaken.” 


THE ADVENTURES OF A SILVER CUP. 165 

Roy laughed. “ How so ? ” 

“ Because that was an act of — I may say munifi- 
cence — which didn’t seem to correspond very well 
with what I understood to be your errand to me.” 

“ Well,” said Roy, “ I am that very fellow. I will 
be frank with you. I am in a peculiar position.” 

“ A good many would like to be in just your posi- 
tion at the present time, Mr. Walker. Everybody is 
talking of you up on the ice. You did a very hand- 
some thing — a very handsome thing, Mr. Walker. 
Ah, yes ! ” as Roy took the prize from under his coat, 
“ Bilder said you would bring me the cup.” 

“ And so I have done, but not for the purpose he 
imagined.” 

“ To have it engraved? ” 

“ No ; but to raise money on it.” 

The jeweler smiled. “ I understand. You’ve been” 
— he hesitated — “seeing the elephant.” 

“ Precisely. I’ve seen a little too much of that 
extensive animal, and he has stepped on my pocket- 
book.” 

“ Flattened it out ? ” 

“Remarkably flat.” Roy handed Mr. Purley the 
cup. “ Advance me some money on that ; and say as 
little about it as you please. I don’t care to publish 
the fact that the fellow who won the silver cup had to 
pawn it the same day. You know what it’s worth.” 

“I ought to. I bought it for the club. It is 
called a ten-dollar cup, but its actual cost was — 
well, considerably less.” 


166 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Can you give me eight dollars for it ? ” said Roy, 
anxiously. Mr. Purley shook his head. 

44 No ; but I’ll tell you what I will do. Leave the 
cup with me — on exhibition. I’ll advance you the 
actual cost — five dollars and eighty cents. I’ll give 
you ten days to redeem it ; then, if you fail, I’ll sell 
it to the club again.” 

This arrangement pleased Roy. He did not expect 
to be able to redeem the cup in that time ; but he was 
glad not to have it put up for sale until he should 
have had time to get well out of the way and be for- 
gotten. 

He showed Mr. Bilder’s proposed inscription to the 
jeweler, who turned the paper over and wrote on the 
other side : — 

“ PRIZE CUP, 

Won by Mr. A. T. Walker, 

At the Great Skating-Match.” 

Thus described, the cup was set in the jeweler’s 
window to be gazed at by an admiring public. It was 
not destined, however, to be re-sold to the club and 
skated for again, as we shall see. 

Roy could not help laughing when he left the store, 
and saw the cup with its label in the window as he 
turned down the street. 

“ It makes so fine a show, I almost envy Mr. 
Walker ! ” thought he. 44 But I sha’n’t envy him 
when people find out what a mercenary wretch he is 
— pawning his prize for money ! What will she 


THE ADVENT HUES OF A SILVER CUP. 167 

think ? ” He was sauntering on, revolving in his mind 
what he would do next, when his reveries were sud- 
denly put to flight by the sound of his own name 
shouted in the street. 

“ Rock wood ! Roy Rockwood ! ” 

It is a hard thing, for one not practiced in disguises 
and deception, not to start and look up when unex- 
pectedly called by a name he has been known by all 
his life. Instead, therefore, of walking straight on, 
without turning his head, — as he ought to have done, 
if the name on the prize cup in the jeweler’s window 
had been rightfully his own, — R03 7 did what you or I 
would have been apt to do in his circumstances ; he 
gave a start of surprise, and looked quickly around. 

The great Reservoir sleigh was passing, with a 
load of passengers returning from the afternoon’s 
sport. A dozen faces were turned to gaze at him, 
some of which were familiar; but he saw nobody 
who could possibly be supposed to know his real name. 

It was a rather startling mystery ; and he was for 
a moment so confused by it that he quite forgot to 
lift his hat in acknowledgment of Miss Hogan’s ex- 
pressive bow and smile. 

“ I say, Roy Rockwood!” called the voice again. 

This time he recognized the peculiar accents ; and, 
turning again, as the sleigh swept on, he saw the 
speaker coming over to him from across the street. 


168 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XX Y . 

ROY RIDES AFTER AN EXTRAORDINARY HORSE. 

** TTALLO, Lizard!” cried Roy; “how came 
A A you here ? ” 

The little Canadian came bustling up to him, radi- 
ant with joy at meeting him again. 

“ De brickyards, ware I live, only tree, fo’ mile 
from ’ere. I come over see ’bout some work, and git 
some groc’ies for my fam’ly. I didn’ expec’ see you, 
Roy.” 

Roy looked anxiously around. 44 Don’t speak so 
loud, Lizard. I’m not Roy Rockwood here — I’m 
Mr. Walker. You knew I had left home ? ” 

“I t’ink so. After 1 lef’ you, — wen I was come 
along wid my new ’oss, — Mist’ Drollers, of your 
town, he overtake me, and want to know all ’bout 
you, how I seen you, you know; he wouldn’t say 
wat was matter; an’ he drive on.” 

44 I’ll tell you about it when I have a good chance,” 
replied Roy. 44 But, remember now, I am Mr. 
Walker ; you know me by no other name.” 

44 Yes, Roy, I remember dat.” 

44 But, Lizard, you mustn’t say Roy ; say Mr, 


ROY RIDES AFTER A HORSE. 169 

Walker. And now tell me about yourself. How did 
you get along with the new horse ? ” 

“ I git along p’itty good ; dat was ver’ good ’oss. 
I have to boost some, but he was ver’ good ’oss. He 
fall down sometime ; an’ I t’ink once he would ups 
an’ die too ; but dat was not his plan ; he was yer’ 
good ’oss. I have him ’ere to town now, in my 
wagon, gittin’ some groc’ies for my fam’ly. You 
shall ride after him, if you like ; an’ you will say 
you’self he is yer’ good ’oss.” 

“ Thank you, Lizard, I don’t think I care to ride. 
Glad he didn’t ups an ’ die ; I was afraid he would. 
But how about work, Lizard ? ” 

“ I expec’ job cutt’n’ ice, nex’ Monday mornin’.” 

“Where?” 

“Up on Reservoir ’ere. You know, Roy.” 

“Not Roy; remember, Lizard. Walker — Mr. 
Walker .” 

“ Walker! yes. I git dat bimeby, Roy — I mean 
Mist’ Walker. I goin’ see de fo’man now, see ’bout 
our men cornin’ over Monday mornin’. I s’pose, 
good-day, he want all men he can git.” 

“ Wonder if there’d be a chance for me, Lizard? ” 

“ You, Roy, — Walker — Mist’ Walker, — you 
work cutt’n’ ice ?” 

“ Why not? I have to work for my living now, 
and I can’t find any thing else to do.” 

“ Well, Roy, — Mist’ Walker, — you jes’ come 
’long me ; I guess I git you job. My ’oss an’ wagon 
right ’ere ; we ride over see fo’man; fix it all right.” 


170 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


So it seemed that Roy was to ride after the won* 
derful horse, after all. The animal was found fast- 
ened by a halter of rope to a post in front of a gro- 
cery, and looking quite as sharply ribbed and gro- 
tesquely gaunt as when Roy saw him first. 

“ You be gitt’n’ in w’ile I untie,” said the little 
Canadian. “ He take us over de groun’ p’itty quick ; 
he ver’ good ’oss, to be sure.” 

Lassarde climbed up into the antique wagon after 
Roy, pulled an old horse-blanket over their knees, and 
gave the signal to start. 

“ Git up now, Billy.” 

No response from Billy. Lassarde reached over, 
and struck him with the ends of the reins, which were 
also of rope, like the halter. Billy gave a groan. 

“Git up now, I say!” And, with another groan, 
which seemed to come from the cavernous depths 
within his hollow, creaking machinery, Billy “ got 
up ” at last. “ You see, he ver’ good ’oss, ver’ good 
’oss, no mistake,” said the satisfied Lassarde. 

Just as they were starting, a handsome sleigh, 
drawn by a prancing span of black horses, went by, 
to the sound of laughing voices and jingling bells. It 
contained half a dozen persons, all of whom seemed 
to be looking with extraordinary interest at Lassarde’s 
turn-out, and particularly at Roy. 

Poor Roy ! he could have wished — if he had not 
been too much confused to frame a wish — that the 
ancient wagon-bottom might open and let him through. 
It was Judge Dilworthy’s sleigh; and there was the 


ROY RIDES AFTER A HORSE. 


171 


“ Queen of the Ice ” herself, no doubt astonished at 
seeing the champion skater of the day, the winner of 
two prizes, taking a ride in such a wagon, and after 
such a horse ! 

“Do, for heaven’s sake, drive along! ’’said Roy, 
groaning in concert with the poor beast. “Where 
is your foreman ? ” 

“Up on Reservoir — somewhere about ice-houses. 
We be dare pretty quick; you see — he ver’ mighty 
good ’oss! ” 

Roy remembered the ice-houses at the Reservoir. 
He also remembered the throng of people there, who 
had witnessed his performance ; and he did not care 
to meet any more of them, in his present position. 
He was for jumping out of the wagon at once, but 
was consoled to learn that they were going up a dif- 
ferent street from that which led to the club-house ; 
for, to say the truth, he felt very little like taking 
more walks that day. 

Lassarde beat the beast with the ends of the rope 
reins, shouted at him both in broken English and 
Canadian French, and at last actually urged him into 
a trot. 

“ You see,” said he, bragging incessantly, “ he ver’, 
ver’ good ’oss, jes’ I told you — ver’ good ’oss, to be 
sure.” 

“A splendid horse for the money, I should say,” 
replied Roy. “ But, I beg of you, don’t beat him any 
more. Let him walk ; keep him splendid.” 

Arrived at the ice-houses, they found the foreman 


172 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


and three or four more laying out work for the follow- 
ing week, running a line by means of a long, narrow 
board, called a “ straight-edge,” and a toothed instru- 
ment, which they shoved along beside it, called a 
“ hand-groove,” — a line which was to serve as a guide 
for starting the larger ice-cutters, drawn by horses. 

Lassarde was told to be on hand with his friends 
early Monday morning, if the weather should con- 
tinue favorable. Then Lassarde said : — 

“ Dis young man, he like git job cuttin’ ice ; you 
give him a chance.” 

The foreman took occasion, while the men were 
shoving the “ straight-edge ” along in the direction of 
the line, to look critically at Roy. 

“ Seems to me you’re the crack skater that beat the 
crowd here this afternoon ? ” 

“ I hope that is nothing against me,” said Roy. 

“ No ; but you don’t look used to hard work.” 

“ Very likely. But I can get used to it.” 

“ Smart feller ! ” put in Lassarde. “ One of smartest 
fellers you ever see.” 

“ Smart enough, I’ve no doubt. I’ve seen some- 
thing of his smartness,” said the foreman. 44 But can 
he stand it to cut ice ?” 

“ I should like to try,” replied Roy. 

The foreman got down on his knees and elbows to 
take aim along his “straight-edge ’’toward a stake set 
in the ice, adjusted the board to his eye, then got up 
again, all without answering Roy’s last remark. Then, 
while the men were shoving the “ hand-groove ” along, 
he said to Roy : — 


ROY RIDES AFTER A HORSE. 


1TB 


“ Think you can do a man’s work ? ” 

“ You will be the best judge of that.” 

“We pay a dollar and seventy-five cents a day for 
men. You can come and try it at a dollar and a half, 
with the understanding that you may get more, or 
perhaps less, according to what you earn.” 

“ That is fair,” said Roy, his heart lightened by 
the prospect of earning his own living at last. 

“ Report to me here Monday morning,” said the 
foreman. “ Work begins at seven.” 

“ Now, Mist’ Fo’eman,” said the Canadian, “I want 
to see ’bout gittin’ job for my ’oss. Mist’ Rock — Mist’ 
Wa — Walker — he’ll tell you he ver’ good ’oss.” 

“We sha’n’t want any horses unless there comes a 
snow,” replied the foreman. “ Then we shall have to 
scrape ; and, if you have a good horse, you may bring 
him on.” 

“ T’ank ye, Mist’ Fo’man. How much you pay day 
for ’osses ? ” 

“ Same as for men — dollar seventy-five cents a 
day ; for good work-horses, you understand.” 

“ I un’stan’. Mine ver’ good ’oss, I tell ye. I bring 
him if snows.” And, as they went off the ice, Las- 
sarde said to Roy : — 

“ I git job for my ’oss now, like’s not. I hope it 
snow like great guns ’fore Monday mornin’. I make 
him earn money, pay you back what you lend ; he pay 
for hisself tree, fo’ days. An’ I say, he do dat, he ver’ 
mighty good ’oss, to be sure ! ” 


174 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


OBED WRITES A LETTER, TO WHICH HE ADDS A POSTSCRIPT. 

OY rode back to town with the little Canadian, 



N- where they parted company ; Lassarde tying his 
horse once more to the hitching-post before the gro- 
cery, while Roy returned to his boarding-house. 

“ Now how ’bout op’nin’ dat account ? ” said Las- 
sarde, entering the store. “ I pay some to-night an’ 
I pay ev’yt’ing nex’ Saddy night ; an’ I do all my 
trade ’ere, you gi’me some credit, you know.” He 
addressed his remarks to an elderly man, with 
whom he seemed to have had some talk on the sub- 
ject before. But now a young fellow came forward, 
and questioned him. 

“Where do you live ? ” 

“ Over on brickyards. I work on brickyards two 
summers, an’ now I bring my fam’ly.” 

“ Who’s the young chap that just left you ? ” 

“ He ? Friend of mine — young man I know.” 

“What’s his name?” 

“ Rock — I mean, you see — I mos’ forgit — 
Walker ; I b’lieve his name Mist’ Walker.” 

“You called him something else when you spoke to 


OBED WHITES A LETTEK. 


175 


him in the street ; and you were just going to call him 
so again.” 

“ I don’ know — I can’t speak English yer’ well 
— I make some mistakes.” 

“ Where have you known him — this Mr. Walker? ” 
“ I know him — good many places — fus’ rate 
feller — he help me buy my ’oss ; yer’ good ’oss.” 

“ Where did he come from?” 

“ My ’oss ? ” 

“ No ; this Mr. Walker.” 

“ Oh, yes; Mist’ Walker.” But the Canadian, now 
fully on his guard, fearing to compromise Boy, could 
not remember any thing more about him. 

“We don’t see such skating every day,” said the 
young man ; “ and I’d like to know where he learned 
so much. You pay your debts, Lassarde ? ” 

“ Yes, I pay. You might ask anybody in Bay- 
field, where I was ’fore I come ’ere.” 

“Bayfield?” said the young man, interested. 
“ You’ve lived in Bayfield ? ” 

“ Yes ; I was lived in Bayfield good w’ile. Mebby 
you know some people in Bayfield ? ” 

“ I have relations there.” 

“ What her names ? ” 

“ Hocum. Miles Hocum is my uncle.” 
u Miles Hocum ! ” exclaimed Lassarde. “ I know 
him like books. I trade in his store good deal. You 
ask him ; he will say if I pay my debt.” 

The elderly man now joined in the conversation ; 
and it was decided to let Lassarde have the credit he 


176 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


wished. After the customer was gone, the elderly 
man said : — 

“ He’ll pay for what he buys to-day in order to get 
fresh credit next time. Meanwhile, I guess you 
better write, and ask your Uncle Miles about him ; 
for we want his custom, if it’s good for any thing.” 

Obed did not seem to be in a very happy frame of 
mind; and perhaps he thought that writing the letter 
would serve to divert his melancholy. He accordingly 
perched himself on a high stool at the desk, took a 
pen, dipped it in ink several times, chewed the handle, 
and at length began to write. 

When Roy reached his boarding-house, having no 
latch-key, he was obliged to ring. 

The door was opened by the chubby-cheeked Tod, 
who at sight of him began to grin and chuckle. Roy 
looked down sternly on the merry youngster, and 
asked, — 

“ Does Miss Hogan live here ? ” 

“ Course she does,” said Tod ; “ don’t you?” 

“ Please hand this to Miss Hogan, with Mr. Walker’s 
grateful acknowledgments.” 

Thereupon Tod began to shriek : — 

“Here! Sis! sis! Florinde! Here’s Mr. Walker 
with your thirty cents ; I bet I’ve won my bet ! ” 

Roy was going on up the stairs when he saw Flo- 
rinda coming down. They met on the first landing. 

“ Ah! Mr. Walker,” said Miss Hogan, in a flutter of 
embarrassment, “so glad to see you ! But — didn’t — 
why didn’t you show Mr. Walker into the parlor, 
Tod?” 


OBED WRITES A LETTER. 


177 


44 I am on my way to my room,” said Roy, serenely. 

44 Indeed ! It is really true, then,” began Miss Ho- 
gan, when Tod’s voice, in an ecstasy of chuckle, 
drowned all other words. 

44 Didn’t I tell ye so ? I won the bet, Mr. Walker. 
Florinde, she bet a new breastpin with me that you 
wasn’t one of ma’s boarders; but I seen ye go out o’ 
the house this mornin’, and agin at noon ; and, when 
I seen you with her up on the Reservoir, I thought 
she knew ye. Now, Florindy Hogan, jest fork over 
that breastpin ; and next time I tell ye I know a thing, 
don’t call me a pukin-head. Here’s thirty cents he 
jest handed me for you ; guess I’ll hold onto it.” 

44 Oh, you needn’t have minded about that small 
sum, Mr. Walker,” said Florinda, still confused. 

44 1 think I owe you still more,” replied Roy, 44 since 
I have been the cause of your losing a bet.” 

44 That was all nonsense — a little foolery between 
me and Tod. You hadn’t told me your name, and 
you spoke of your hotel.” 

44 Did I say hotel?” laughed Roy. 44 Well, this is 
my hotel. I think it deserves the name, if any board- 
ing-house does.” 

44 But — I gave you my address — why didn’t you 
tell me then — ” 

44 That I was one of your mother’s boarders ? The 
truth is,” said Roy, with engaging candor, 44 1 can’t 
explain all the foolish acts of my life. That is one of 
them, Miss Hogan.” 

44 Oh, no, Mr. Walker ! ” exclaimed Florinda, 44 don’t 

12 


178 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


say that ; it was a pretty good joke — I call it. I’ve 
talked with ma, and, since you are the new boarder, 
I’m afraid you haven’t got a very good room.” 

“ The room is well enough, only rather too thickly 
populated. As I expect to remain in town a few 
days, I should prefer a little more privacy ; but your 
mother did the best she could for me, I believe.” 

As Roy spoke, he looked so fine and manly, in the 
eyes of the partial Florinda, that she good-naturedly 
forgave him the little imposture he had practiced, and 
— what was worse — his neglect of her, and his admi- 
ration of another, on the ice. She answered with a 
decisive word and sweet smile, — 

“I’ll see that you have a better room, Mr. Walker.” 

Roy thanked her, and proceeded on his way up the 
stairs. He had not gone far when he heard a violent 
squabble below, and Florinda’s voice saying, — 

“ Give it here, Tod Hogan ! ” 

To which Tod retorted : — 

“ I won’t ! I’m goin’ to keep it toward that breast- 
pin you owe me. Oh ! ow ! Leggo my hair, Florinde 
Hogan! I’ll yell!” 

Roy understood that the altercation was concerning 
the thirty cents, which Tod seemed determined to 
retain as security for the payment of his sister’s bet — 
a matter in which he did not feel called upon to inter- 
fere. 

He had not been long in his room, when Mrs. Ho- 
gan gave him a call, having found, she said, that she 
was able to do much better by him than she had at first 
supposed. 


OBED WRITES A LETTER. 179 

“ Yon can have a small room, down one flight, all 
to yourself, if you prefer.” 

Roy did “ prefer,” of course, and took possession at 
once of his new quarters, for which he thanked the 
mother in words, and the daughter in his heart. 

The apartment was not sumptuous; but to Roy, 
disgusted with the sight of old hairbrushes, bowls of 
soapy water, boxes of tooth-paste and pomatum, too 
many tumbled beds in the morning, and too many old 
clothes hanging round on hooks at all times, the 
new room “all to himself,” small as it was and 
shabby as it was, seemed a haven of refuge, for which 
he was duly grateful. 

He went to bed early that night, and kept his 
chamber nearly all the next day, glad enough, for 
once, to have Sunday come, after a week of weariness 
and trouble. 

Toward evening, feeling refreshed after his long 
rest, he took a walk up to the Reservoir, and saw 
some men, — Sunday though it was, — with axes and 
pikes and ice-hooks, opening a channel in the ice in 
front of the great houses, which were to be filled with 
their crystal harvest during the following week. The 
novelty of the business pleased Roy, and already he 
wished that Monday morning had arrived*. 

He had not sought Florinda’s society during the 
day ; but, after tea, he could not well decline an invita- 
tion, with which she smilingly met him in the entry, to 
the private family parlor, to which only privileged 
boarders were admitted. 


180 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy had not been there long when a caller entered. 
It was Obed. 

That jealous swain had already punished himself 
sufficiently, by nursing his ill nature alone and sulkily 
walking off the other way after the morning services at 
church, instead of going home with Florinda, as his 
habit was. He had therefore concluded to forgive the 
past, and had come, with a magnanimous smile and a 
bright blue neck-tie, to visit her in the evening. 

But, at sight of the odious “ Walker” in the bosom 
of the family, chatting pleasantly, basking in the 
sunshine of Florinda’s favor, the heart of the envious 
youth almost burst with impatience. 

Florinda received him with marked coldness ; and 
Roy’s airy and ironical civility did not soothe his ruf- 
fled spirit. He sat for some time silent and glower- 
ing, his legs crossed, and his hat on his knee, then 
got up. 

“ Good-evening ! ” he muttered, almost savagely, as 
he stalked out. 

“ Good-evening, Mr. Hocum ! ” replied Florinda, in 
tones of excessive suavity, intended to set off, by cheer- 
ful contrast, the boorishness of his blunt leave-taking. 
“ Don’t forget your cane, Mr. Hocum.” 

He had set his cane in the corner on entering, and 
was perhaps willing to have that excuse for coming 
back. The discovery that she did not care to leave 
him that excuse, could not have been very flattering 
to his outraged vanity. 

“ Come again, Mr. Hocum !” Florinda called after 


OBED WHITES A LETTER. 


181 


him, in sweet accents, which ended in a light laugh, 
as with neck-tie and cane, and hat set fiercely on one 
side, he disappeared down the stairs. 

Young Tod, who saw the fun and liked it, followed 
Obed to the door, and grinningly imparted to him 
the consoling information that Walker was a “ reg’lar 
boarder, and a tip-top feller.” • 

Home went the miserable Obed, with a heart full of 
boiling rage and hatred, and lay awake half the night 
plotting vengeance against the faithless Florinda and 
the favorite new boarder. 

The next morning, he went early to the store, found 
the unfinished letter to his Uncle Miles, and, with fin- 
gers trembling from outward cold and inward fury, 
penned the following postscript : — 

“ There's a scamp here name Walker been in town 
a day or two, Lassarde knows him, and called him 
some other name like Rock, or Brock, or Brockwood, 
seems to be some mistery, in pretty good clothes, but 
with a downright roagues face, if there ever was one, 
he give away a pair of skates he won as a prise and 
helped Lassarde buy an old crowbait of a horse so 
Lassarde says, and yet this ristocrat this prince in dis- 
guise is goin’ to work on the ice for Westbury & Co 
this week, do you know any thing about him, because 
he may impose on a worthy family I know, about 16 
or 17 years old.” 


182 


BOUND IN HON OB. 


CHAPTER X X Y II . 

OUR HERO GOES TO WORK, AND IS INTERRUPTED. 

W HILE Obed was finishing his letter, Roy was on 
his way to the Reservoir, happy in the pros- 
pect of having honest work to do, and of enjoying a 
manly independence. 

He found a special gang of men already at work. 
The engine was fired up, the machinery clanked, and 
ice-cutters were humming merrily over the frozen 
pond. 

At a distance the ice-cutter bore a striking resem- 
lance to a plow. It was furnished with handles, held 
by the man who followed it, and was drawn by a 
horse, which another man led. But the slender iron 
beam ran very low ; and, in place of the plow-share, it 
had a series of gigantic steel teeth, each projecting a 
little lower and cutting the ice a little deeper than the 
one that preceded it. 

The cutters themselves formed a regular series like 
the teeth of each. The first cut a groove only about 
two inches in depth. Beginning with the line which 
Roy had seen cut with the “hand-groove ” on Saturday, 
it deepened that, and, returning, cut a paralled groove, 


OUR HERO GOES TO WORK. 


183 


with just the width of the future cake of ice between 
them. A “ guide ” attached to this pioneer cutter — 
a sort of blade formed to run always in the last groove : 
— set the teeth off a at proper distance for the next 
groove. 

This instrument had already gone over a section of 
the pond one way, making the ice look like a vast 
sheet of ruled paper. It was now crossing the first 
lines at right angles, cutting the parallels into squares, 
outlining, so to speak, several acres of checker-board. 

A second cutter followed the first, and a third and 
fourth followed that, each still further deepening the 
groove until they had a depth of eight or nine inches 
in ice fourteen inches thick. 

From one side of the field thus prepared, immense 
oblong, checkered rafts of ice were taken off, floated 
along the canal, which had been opened the day be- 
fore, and brought into a sort of dock at the foot of 
the elevator near one end of the row of ice-houses. 

The elevating apparatus had an endless chain, re- 
volving over two iron wheels, one situated just above 
the water at the lower end of a steeply inclined plane, 
the other at the upper end, near the top of the ice- 
house. The ice-raft, as it reached the dock, was split 
into smaller rafts by means of long handled, chisel- 
shaped instruments struck into the grooves ; these 
fragments were shoved on, and again divided by men 
standing on wooden platforms at each side of a nar- 
row channel, and finally fed, cake by cake, into the 
mouth of the elevator. 


184 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy, reporting to the foreman, was turned over to 
a man who had charge of the ice at this point. The 
man looked at him, saw he had a quick eye and a res- 
olute face, and said : — 

“ I guess your place be will here. Ketch hold of 
that ice-hook behind you, and do as I do.” 

The ice-hook was a short-handled pike, with a strong, 
wedge-shaped point and sharp hook, used in handling 
the cakes. As they were pushed along the channel 
between the platforms, some were to be kept back, 
while others were floated into the jaws of the ma- 
chinery. Each jaw was an iron grapple of the chain, 
which, seizing a cake, forced it up the smooth rails of 
the inclined plane to the lowest of a series of stagings 
arranged to carry the ice to various heights, along the 
entire row of buildings. 

It was Roy’s business to help feed the blocks into 
the elevator ; and this became lively work after the 
full force of men was put on for the day. 

The overseer in charge had not judged him ill. The 
boy’s athletic sports had given him a good training 
for exercise of this sort. There were no quicker or 
more skillful hands than his on the platform ; and, as 
soon as he became accustomed to managing the ice, 
none could turn, or trim, or set back, or move on a 
block and leave it at just the proper time, more 
handily than he. 

“ Guess you ain’t much used to work,” said the 
overseer to him, with a queer smile. 

“ What makes you think that ? ” 


OUR HERO GOES TO WORK. 


185 


“ ’Cause you put in so. Old stagers don’t work 
like that. They know they can’t stand it. They 
take it easier, as you will, by’n ’by.” 

Roy had in fact been so much interested in his 
work that he had thrown himself into a violent sweat 
during the first half-hour. He now found that it 
was not a matter of life and death that each grapple 
should have its cake ; and that, if one grapple had two 
cakes, the one behind forcing up the one before, no 
catastrophe need be dreaded. So, instead of springing 
with all his might to regulate the procession of blocks, 
when they came too fast or too slow or got wedged 
in the channel, he accepted the overseer’s hint, and 
“ took it easier.” 

It was well he did ; for, though he worked much 
more moderately after that, he was a tired boy when 
night came. He had had an hour at noon for his din- 
ner, which he ate in the engine-room (having taken it 
with him in the morning), and had then worked until 
near five o’clock, when it grew dark at that season of 
the year. It seemed as if he could hardly lift his stiff 
and heavy limbs as he walked back to his boarding- 
place. 

A good night’s rest restored him, however; and he 
was promptly in his place again the next morning. 

“ Well, how are you to-day ? ” said the friendly over- 
seer. 

“ A little rusty in the hinges ; but I shall be all 
right in a little while,” replied Roy. 

The overseer suggested a change in his work, to 


186 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


which Roy agreeing, his short-handled pike was ex- 
changed for a long one, and he was set to rafting ice. 
This pleased him better, for awhile at least. There 
was a novelty about it, without the excitement which 
had tempted him to go beyond his strength. 

Each raft required, for its easy navigation, two 
men ; and, as Lassarde was at this work, Roy easily 
got him for a comrade. 

Shouldering their poles, they marched to a distant 
part of the ice-field, where the great checkered masses 
were split off, and, getting possession of one, started 
with it for the ice-houses. 

There was a broad space of open water, from which 
the ice had been taken the day before ; along the edge 
of this they floated their slow and sluggish raft, now 
pushing, now pulling it, now walking on the main ice 
and now on the floating fragment, thence into the 
canal, and so on, to the dock, when it was delivered 
over to those who jumped upon it with their long- 
handled chisels, and commenced splitting it up. 

Roy and Lassarde did not overwork themselves 
that day ; and they had plenty of leisure, going and 
coming, to talk over old times in Bayfield. 

In the afternoon, it began to snow and again the 
little Canadian had hopes of bringing his horse into 
service. 

It snowed all night, though not heavily ; and in the 
morning there were fifteen or twenty horses on the 
ice, with wooden scrapers, clearing it and piling up 
the snow in banks along the shore. 


OUR HERO GOES TO WORK. 


18 T 


Roy looked for Lassarde, and before long saw hi m 
coming with his pike-pole on his shoulder, as on the 
previous day. 

44 Hallo, Lizard ! ” cried Roy, 44 where’s your horse?” 

44 1 dono’ wot sort of fo’eman dey got ’ere,” mut- 
tered the Canadian, looking hugely dissatisfied about 
something. 44 1 bring my ’oss, as he say, an’ you 
know you’self he ver’ good ’oss. But dat fo’eman, 
he look at him, an’ he say, 4 You dumb Cunnuck, 
you call dat a ’oss ? ’ I say, 4 Cou’se I call him a ’oss ? 
an’ a p’itty good ’oss, to be sure.’ But dat fo’man he 
laugh, an’ he say, 4 Crows got a moggidge on dat 
’oss.’ I say, 4 1 dono’ wot ye mean by moggidge ; he 
is ver’ good ’oss, an’ I should like set him to work.’ 
But dat fo’man he say, 4 You don’t set no such rattle- 
bone to work on ice w’ile I’m ’bout ; I should be ’f’aid 
Cruelty Animals S’c’ety would go for me ;’ an’ dat 
fo’man he laugh, an’ go ’way. I dono’ wot he mean; 
for I call Billy now p’itty mighty good ’oss, don’t 
you?” 

44 A wonderful horse, in his way, Lizard ! ” replied 
Roy. 

44 In his way — what you mean by dat ? ” said the 
jealous little Canadian. 44 Ain’t he good sort of ’oss ? ” 

44 A very good sort of horse for a person who fancies 
a horse of that sort,” replied Roy. 

Lassarde detected sarcasm in these answers. He 
also had to bear a good deal of banter from his brother 
Canadians, which Roy, though he understood not 
a dozen words of their language, judged rightly to 


188 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


be on the subject of poor Billy. Lassarde became 
gloomy. He ceased to brag of his “ver’ good ’oss.” 
But now and then he broke out with, “ I dono’ wot I 
do dat ’oss ; ” or, “ ’F’aid I ha’f to sell dat ’oss ; ” or, 
“ Too bad now I fin’ noth’n’ dat’ oss do — he eat mos' 
much hay’s a man ; ” or some such expression of trouble 
and discontent. 

Roy was getting along very well with the work 
now ; but the snow and water were fast ruining his 
boots, and he went home every night with wet feet. 

His fair friend, Florinda, noticed this, and one 
evening brought him a pair of overshoes, which the 
house had inherited from some defaulting boarder. 
Roy accepted them gratefully, and from that time kept 
his feet dry. 

But, while the daughter looked after his comfort, 
the mother had an eye to business. As he was leav- 
ing the breakfast-table one morning she accosted him 
with rather too many smiles : — 

“ I beg your pardon, Mr. Walker ; I have some bills 
to pay to-day ; my usual terms is, paid in advance 
from strangers, but don’t wish to exact it from a 
gentleman like you — only, if you could lend me three 
or four dollars till next week, it would be a great ac- 
commodation.” 

Roy, beginning to learn wisdom from experience, had 
’carefully hoarded his “cup money,” as he called it, 
against all temptations to give or spend. The time for 
its legitimate use had now come ; and, taking the land- 
lady’s gentle hint, he put five dollars into her hand — - 
payment in full for a week’s board. 


OUR HERO GOES TO WORK. 


189 


He still had half a dollar left ; but that evening a 
little bill for washing came in, which being paid, only- 
five cents remained. 

“Never mind,” thought he^ “to-morrow is Friday 
and the next day is Saturday, and Saturday night I 
shall be paid off, and have ten dollars and a half in hard- 
earned cash; ” for Roy flattered himself that he was to 
receive man’s wages. 

Saturday came, and was drawing to a close, and 
Roy, thinking how rich he would be in about an hour, 
was taking down his raft of ice with Lassarde, when 
Lassarde, who was on the raft, said to Roy, who was 
on the main ice, soberly pushing, with the end of the 
pole against his shoulder : — 

“Walker! ’’for the Canadian had learned to call 
him by his right name, or rather wrong name, by this 
time, “who dat cornin’? Ain’t dat somebody you 
know ? You look quick ! ” 

Roy did look quick, and none too quick either ; for 
the comer, a powerfully built person, walking with 
tremendous strides, already had a hand outstretched 
to touch his shoulder. 

It was Constable Drollers. 


190 


BOtJND IN HONOK. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

DUMPY DROLLERS’ S TACTICS. 

T HIS was Miles Hocum’s practical answer to Oba- 
diali’s postscrip 1 . 

Miles did not get the letter until Friday, being ab- 
sent from home when it came. Then, instead of trust- 
ing his reply to the mails, he dispatched, the next 
morning, our friend Drollers, who carried a note of 
introduction to Obed, together with a paper which 
more immediately concerned our hero. 

Drollers, on his arrival in town, sought out Obed, 
and then both hastened to the ice-field, Obed consent- 
ing with gleeful alacrity to act as the officer’s guide 
and deputy. 

Among the gang of men at work on the ice and 
occasional visitors coming and going, the approach of 
these two did not attract attention. Drollers was, 
therefore, able to form a deliberate plan of attack, and 
then to choose his own time for carrying it into exe- 
cution. 

The company had begun to cut ice on the opposite 
side of the pond ; and a space some twenty rods in 
length and four or five rods wide had been opened 


DUMPY DROLLERS’S TACTICS* 


191 


over against the wooded shore. Roy and Lassarde 
had taken their raft from the farther end of this space, 
and were moving it toward a new canal, which 
branched off at right angles in the direction of the ice- 
houses. Imagine the form of a gigantic carpenter’s 
square cut out of the ice, — the long arm very much 
prolonged, and the short arm very much widened, — 
and you have an idea of the situation. On the corner 
of the main ice thus formed, Drollers had thought it 
an easy thing to catch Roy. 

The constable and his deputy, having separated, 
waited till the raft neared the corner, and then ad- 
vanced — Drollers from amid the throng of ice-cutters 
on one side, and Obed along the path of the going and 
returning raftsmen, by the edge of the canal, on the 
other side. Thus, had Roy taken the alarm in season 
and set out to run from the constable, he must have 
gone safely and comfortably into the arms of the 
deputy. But he did not give Obed that happiness. 

At sight of the genial face of his old friend (for the 
countenance of Drollers wore a pleased and confident 
smile), and the hand outstretched to grasp his collar, 
Roy slipped his shoulder from the pike-pole, the end 
of which, by some accident, struck the advancing offi- 
cer full in the chest. Drollers caught it as it was 
falling ; for he had had his eye on that very useful 
instrument, which he thought might come in play in 
case his intended captive should attempt to escape in 
the only direction left open to him, and it should be- 
come necessary to hook him out of the water. 


19a 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy was by this time on the raft, having made a 
leap of three feet, which the ponderous Drollers was 
in no hurry to take after him, having possessed him- 
self of the pike-pole,' and feeling himself master of the 
situation. At the same time, Obed came up. 

“Push off! push off, Lizard ! ” cried Roy, running 
to help the Canadian, and setting him a lively ex- . 
ample. 

A foot or two farther from the shore, and the ice- 
raft would be where Drollers, with his two hundred 
and odd pounds of portliness, would hardly venture 
to take the leap at all. 

“ Lizard,” said the constable, “ stop that ! You’re 
resisting an officer of the law ! ” 

“I ain’t ’zistin’ no officer — I jes’ gittin’ my ice 
’long fas’ I can ! ” and the little Canadian pushed with 
all his might. 

But it was not easy to change the course of the 
sluggish mass ; and now Drollers had a pike-pole too. 
He stuck the hook into the raft ; and, while Roy and 
Lassarde pushed, he and Obed pulled. 

One end of the raft moved off from the main ice ; 
but, at the same time, the other end moved on. Drol- 
lers laughed ; Obed’s eyes stuck out with excitement. 

“ Sorry for you, Roy,” said the constable ; “ but 
there’s no help for’t. You must come with us.” 

Roy glanced quickly around, while he and Lassarde 
exerted all their force. Their end of the raft still 
swung away ; the other end touched the main ice. 

“ Now’s our time, Hocum ! ” and the constable 
stepped, with his deputy, upon the raft. 


DUMPY DROLLERS’S TACTICS. 


193 


Roy could expect no help from Lassarde. He got 
possession of Lassarde’s pole, and retreated. 

Drollers held the other pole ready for any emer- 
gency, and advanced with Obed, driving Roy to the 
corner of the raft. 

“ I guess you better give up, Roy,” said Lassarde ; 
“ I guess no use.” 

But Roy pointed his pike at Drollers’s breast. 

“ Think you’re going to take me with you, Dumpy 
Drollers ? ” he cried, his eyes gleaming defiance. 

“Yes, my boy, that’s just what I’m going to do,” 
said Drollers. “ J ump into the water, and you’ll have 
a cold bath for nothing and get hooked out with this 
fifteen-foot pole.” 

Again Roy glanced around. Behind him, was the 
open water, with here and there a floating fragment 
of waste ice ; confronting him, were the confident offi- 
cer and his wildly grinning deputy. 

“ Keep off ! ” he shouted, as Drollers advanced. 

“ Put down that pole, Roy ! You’ll be sorry if you 
make me use mine ! ” said the officer, threateningly. 

Another glance behind. Roy was watching his 
chances. 

“Well, I’m ready now!” And, hurling the pole 
backward, he wheeled half about, and followed it, 
taking a desperate leap from the raft. 

Drollers looked to see him go into the water, and 
sprang forward to fish him out with his long-handled 
ice-hook. 

But he did not go into the water. 


13 


194 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

CONCERNING SOME HAY ROY DID NOT WISH TO PURCHASE, AND 
A LAD WHO DID NOT HAVE IT TO SELL. 

R OY had dexterously dropped one end of his pole 
on the raft, and flung the other across a frag- 
ment of drifting ice. This was the chance he had 
been waiting for, as the raft swung off. Then two 
quick steps, or skipping leaps along the pole ; a third 
on the fragment of ice, which swayed and dipped ; 
and a fourth to a much larger mass, where he regained 
his balance just as he was falling, gathered fresh im- 
petus, and, at one sheer jump of seven or eight feet, 
ianded, head foremost — one leg slipping backward 
into the water — on the firm shore-ice beyond. 

It had been truly a desperate venture ; and in 
cooler moments he could not perhaps have performed 
the daring feat once in a dozen times. Drollers was 
as much confounded as if he had seen a bird already 
in his hand slip through his fingers, and fly away. 

Roy was beyond reach of his hook, before he could 
use it ; and the portly constable found himself help- 
lessly adrift on the raft, with at least twenty feet of 
open water between him and the fugitive scrambling 
up on an embankment of snow piled along the shore. 



PERILOUS LEAP. — Page 194. 































































* 





CONCERNING SOME HAY. 


195 


“ You can go too ; I hold de pole for you walk off 
dare,” said Lassarde, with gay humor. “ You try ? ” 

The proposal was not favorably received ; such fly- 
ing leaps as he had just seen taken by the light-heeled 
Roy not being in Dumpy’s line. 

His wit was of the heavy order, like his frame. He 
had to turn about two or three times before he finally 
decided what to do. He first thought of hauling the 
raft over by hooking on to the fragments of floating 
ice ; but soon found that, instead of drawing the raft 
to them, he drew them to the raft. Then he would 
have gone back to the main ice ; but, after one or two 
attempts to hook into it, he reflected that he would 
gain no advantage by returning to it — that he would 
then be in the very trap he had laid for Roy, with two 
arms of open water shutting him off from the way he 
wished to go. 

“ Now see wot you do ! ” said the Canadian ; “ gitt’n 9 
my ice ware I not manage him at all!” Then to 
Obed : “ I take my ice-hook, you please ! ” the zeal- 

ous deputy having seized Lassarde’s pole. 

The raft was drifting toward the head of the canal. 
Drollers saw his opportunity, and began to paddle 
clumsily in that direction. 

Roy meanwhile had climbed over the snow heaped 
by the scrapers along the shore, run swiftly up the 
wooded bank, and disappeared. He struck a path 
made by laborers who had come that way to their 
work on the pond. The path took him to an open 
road, which in one direction led farther into the 


196 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


country, and in the other back to town. He felt 
that the greater safety lay in the direction of the 
country. But he had learned what it was to travel 
without means ; and there was the money due to 
him that night from the ice-company, to say nothing 
of the sachel of clothes he had left at his boarding- 
house. 

He had not decided which course to take, when a 
sleigh came along. It was going toward town. 

“ Ride ? ” cried Roy, standing by the track. 

“ Get on,” said the driver, slackening speed. 

Roy sprang upon the side of the sleigh ; but the 
man made him get under the robe and take a seat by 
his side. That man was Judge Dil worthy, driving 
his handsome span. Roy, who knew him, hoped he 
would not himself be recognized ; but the judge 
looked at him pleasantly, and said, — 

“ How’s the skating on the pond now ? ” 

“Not very good since the snow fell,” replied Roy. 

“ I see your cup is still in the jeweler’s window,” 
remarked the judge, and let out the reins of his 
spirited span. 

By getting this ride, Roy felt that he had gained 
two advantages over his pursuers — he was rapidly 
putting distance between him and them, and he was 
leaving no foot prints on the road by which he might 
be traced. 

He quitted the sleigh when near his boarding-house, 
entered by a back way, ran up unobserved to his 
room, put on a clean shirt and dry socks (in spite of 


CONCERNING SOME HAY. 


197 


overshoes he had wet one foot in making his escape 
from the raft), left his soiled clothes in a bundle 
marked, “ For the washerwoman,” packed one shirt 
flat in his sachel, and strapped it under his coat, ran 
down the stairs again, and left the house by the back 
way, as he had come in. 

“ If I don’t return for the rest of my clothes,” 
thought he, “ they will fit Tod in a year or two, and 
pay his mother for the one day’s board I owe her.” 

He was sorry to leave without a word of explana- 
tion and an exchange of good-bys with Florinda, but 
he dared not risk delay. Hurrying through the su- 
burbs of the town, he entered a small grocery, laid 
his last five cents on the counter, and received in 
exchange half a pound of crackers, which he stuffed 
into his pockets as he once more hastened on. Still 
the money due to him from Westbury and Company 
preyed upon his mind ; and the thought of running 
away from it was bitter. And whither was he run- 
ning? One place appeared to him as good as an- 
other, provided Drollers was not there. He was in 
the country again, on a level road, and it was growing 
dark, when, passing a large, old-fashioned barn front- 
ing the street, he noticed a door unfastened. He was 
acquainted with barns, and thought that, if he could 
slip in there unseen, he could find in some nook or 
corner hay or straw, and a good place to pass the 
night. He entered like a thief, and was not at all de- 
lighted to meet a boy, who at that moment jumped 
down from the loft. Both were about equally startled 
at the encounter in that gloomy solitude. 


198 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Hallo ! ” said the boy, sharply. 

“Hallo!” Roy answered, with business-like com* 
posure. “ Do you know where I can buy a few tons 
of fine hay? Timothy and red-top mixed is about 
the article.” 

“We hain’t got no hay to dispose of,” replied the 
boy, reaching the door and throwing it open. 

By the light of the sunset sky, which came in, and 
lighted up his freckles and red hair, he looked up at 
Roy. Roy looked down at him. 

“ Hallo ! ” said the boy again, this time with a 
smile. 

“ Hallo ! ” Roy once more replied, laughing in his 
turn. “ Do you live here ? ” 

“ Yes ; Widder Graves owns the place, and I take 
care of her horse and cows.” 

“ Any men-folks around ? ” 

“ Nary one, without you count me for men-folks.” 

“ Good ! Does the widow ever come round ? ” 

“Not after this time of day.” 

“ Good again ! Now, my boy, do me a favor. Will 
you hide me here ? ” 

“ Why, what do you want to hide for ? ” said the 
boy, wondering^. 

“ I’ll explain by-and-by. Quick ! Will you do it ? ” 

“ Th’ ain’t nothin’ I wouldn’t do for you, Mr. 
Walker,” the boy answered. “ I’ve got them prize 
skates yit that you gave me, and they’re the splen- 
didest pair ! ” 


DROLLERS BORROWS A LANTERN. 


199 


CHAPTER XXX. 

DROLLERS BORROWS A LANTERN, AND GETS A BOY TO HOLD IT. 

^ * "VTEYER mind the skates,” said Roy. 44 Come, 
-L ^1 now, bub, what’s your name ? ” 
w Timothy Tingley,” replied the boy. 

44 Timothy and red-top combined,” laughed Roy, 
touching the lad’s ear-locks. 44 Y ou are the very article 
I want.” 

44 Don’t you re’ly want any hay ? ” 

44 Yes ; perhaps enough to bunk on over night.” 
Roy looked at his watch. 44 Now, Timothy, I want 
you to do an errand.” 

“What?” 

44 Go up to the ice-house, and get some money for 
me. You must be there before the men are all paid 
off, or it will be too late.” 

44 But I’ve got to milk the cows now.” 

44 I’ll milk the cows for you. Come, while you’re 
getting the pails, I’ll write an order for the money.” 

The pails were brought; and Roy, having penciled 
the order on paper produced from the pocket of his 
sachel, using the bottom of a peck measure for a desk, 
sent the boy off, with full directions how to act. 


200 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


He milked the cows in the gloomy stalls, and did 
some other little chores which Timothy had left, and 
then waited anxiously for the boy’s return. 

An hour passed, — it was now quite dark, — when, 
to increase his perplexity and alarm, the widow stood 
in the door of her house, and called, — 

“Timo thee! Timo thee!” her “ native wood-notes 
wild” running up and dwelling, high and shrill, on 
the final syllable. 

Not daring to trust his voice, Roy hanged the door 
by way of response. 

“ Why didn’t you answer ? ” screamed the widow ; 
“ and why don’t you bring in the milk ? Have I got 
to go for it ? ” 

Roy resolved on a bold stroke. Timothy had told 
him where the milk was to go, — to a sink-shelf just 
inside the kitchen door, — and, seeing no light there, 
he thought he might slip in with the pail and slip out 
again, unseen by the widow. 

He tried it, and had got the pail in the sink, when 
the widow, with a light, came suddenly out upon him 
from a pantry beyond, scolding the supposed Tim- 
othy. 

Finding he had not time to escape, Roy politely 
took off his hat to her. The widow stopped scolding, 
and stood amazed. 

“ Timothy couldn’t come just yet ; I have brought 
the milk,” he explained. “ Saturday night — he has 
some extra chores to do.” 

The widow, quite confounded at seeing a good 


DROLLERS BORROWS A LANTERN. 201 

looking and well-dressed stranger in place of the boy 
whose ears she had been near boxing, stammered an 
apology and let him retreat unquestioned. 

Going back to the barn, he found Timothy just re- 
turned, and wondering what had become of him. 

“ Did you get the money ? ” was Roy’s first ques- 
tion. 

“ No ; they wouldn’t let me have it. They said 
your order was signed A. T. Walker , and they didn’t 
know any A. T. Walker.” 

“ Drollers has a hand in that ! ” said Roy, hiding as 
well as he could his disappointment and vexation. 
“ I’ve carried in the milk, and made acquaintance 
with the widow, and received a good scolding in your 
place. So you must tell her that the fellow who gave 
you the skates stopped to speak with you, as he was 
going by.” 

“ But you hain’t had no supper,” said Timothy. 

“ Yes, I have. While you were gone I ate some 
crackers I had in my pocket, and took toll out of the 
milk-pail. I’ve found a hiding-place too. You 
mustn’t know where. Then, if you are questioned, you 
won’t have to lie. Now I’ll go to the house with you, 
and bid you good-by in the widow’s hearing. But 
leave a door open so that I can get back into the barn, 
if I wish to.” 

All this was done ; and Timothy and the widow 
afterward sat down to their supper ; in the midst of 
which two visitors arrived, one of whom remained 
outside. 


202 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


The one who went in was Obed. He was acquainted 
with the widow, and made known his errand at once. 
He had come with a constable ; and they were in search 
of a young barn-burner, whose whereabouts, they had 
reason to suppose, was known to Timothy. 

Timothy turned pale. The widow questioned him 
with eyes and tongue. 

“ I don’t know any barn-burner, not as I know on,” 
said the boy. “You don’t mean Mr. Walker, do 
you?” 

“I do mean Mr. Walker,” said Obed ; “ only that 
ain’t the scoundrel’s name.” 

“ The feller who gave me the skates ? He’s been 
here ; she saw him.” 

“ I saw a young man,” said the widow. “ He didn’t 
look like a barn-burner, thought What made ye 
think Timothy knew about him ?” 

Then Timothy’s mission to the ice-houses came out. 
He did not attempt to deny it, but said that he couldn’t 
refuse to do an errand for one who had given him a 
pair of skates, and who offered to milk the cows for 
him while he was gone. 

“ And do you know any thing about where he is 
now ? ” demanded the widow. 

“ How can I know ?” said Timothy. “You your- 
self heard him say good-by at the door, and I hain’t 
been out of the house since.” 

“Did he tell you where he was going?” asked 
Drollers, who had now come into the kitchen. 

“No, he didn’t tell me any thing about where he 
was going- ” 


DROLLERS BORROWS A LANTERN. 


203 


“ Didn’t get his money for him, did ye ? ” chuckled 
Obed. “No, nor nobody won’t; we’ve fixed that! 
And when he goes for it — ” 

Dr oilers interrupted his indiscreet deputy to ask the 
widow for a lantern and permission to search the 
barn. He was well enough convinced that Roy was 
not in the house ; but strongly suspected that he was 
somewhere about the premises. 

The widow readily granted the request, and sent 
Timothy to carry the lantern. 

The barn had two large doors, which were found 
barred on the inside. A smaller door leading in 
through the stables was padlocked without. Timothy 
brought the key, let the officers in, and held the lan- 
tern while they searched. 

As Timothy had left one of the large doors un- 
barred, he had excellent reason to think Roy was 
within ; and he trembled for his friend. 

Drollers stood guard on the barn floor, while Obed 
went all over the half-filled mow with a pitchfork, 
stabbing the hay with as much good will as if he ex- 
pected at every stroke to hear his hated rival squeal. 
Then he explored in the same way the loft over the 
horse-stable and cow-stalls, making poor Timothy fol- 
low with the lantern wherever he led. He even 
climbed up by pins in the beam to the edge of the top 
loft, over the purlins, where he himself held up the lan- 
tern with one hand, clinging fast with the other, and 
looked fearfully over, as if he expected to be knocked 
on the head, and hurled backward to certain destruc- 


204 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


tion by the desperate villian crouched above. Plenty 
of dirt and cobwebs he found and carried away with 
him, but no captive. 

The granary was searched — likewise the stalls and 
mangers, even the chicken-loft. But all to no pur- 
pose ; and Tim was beginning to think, in spite of the 
evidence of the big door barred within, that Roy was, 
after all, nowhere in the barn. 

Drollers himself went over much of the ground 
after his deputy ; but met with no better success. The 
widow also came, in shawl and hood, and pointed out 
possible places where a man might hide, and implored 
Timothy to think of some more; “for,” quoth she, 
“ if the wretch is a barn-burner, I shall be fright- 
ened of my life to think of him bein’ shet up here! 
Have ye looked in the old fannin’-mill ? ” 

Drollers had never heard of a man being in a fan- 
ning-mill. He sprang to the corner where the ma- 
chine stood, and turned the crank and set the screens 
a-shaking as if he meant to winnow and blow Roy 
out, like a bushel of barley. But no Roy appeared, 
either as chaff or grain. 

Then a bright idea occurred to Drollers. 

“ Since this boy couldn’t get his money, I shouldn’t 
wonder if the fellow went for it himself ! One thing’s 
perty certain, he ain’t nowheres in this barn.” 

“ I’ll take my oath of that,” said Obed, brushing 
the cobwebs from his hat. 

The widow thereupon dismissed her dreadful ap- 
prehensions of the young ruffian filing all her build- 


DROLLERS BORROWS A LANTERN. 


205 


ings before morning ; and, charging Timothy to shut 
up the barn with more care than usual, went back 
into the house. 

The red-topped lad re-entered the barn the next 
morning with a good deal of interest. He set down 
his milk-pails, looked all around, recalling the scenes 
of the previous evening, and finally gave a low 
whistle. A whistle responded ; and, looking up, he 
saw a head peer out over the edge of the floor of the 
loft above the stalls. 

“ You there ! ” exclaimed the astonished red-top. 

“ Yes,” laughed Roy ; “ and I was here all the time 
when they were hunting for me high and low last 
night. When Drollers said I must have gone myself 
for the money, I was within six feet of his sagacious 
nose. When Obed took his oath that I wasn’t in the 
barn, I almost burst with laughter.” 

“ Where was you ? Show me ! ” And the eager 
Timothy clambered up by the ladder which stood 
against the loft. 

Only Roy’s head had been visible, and that sud- 
denly disappeared; but Timothy discovered a big 
round hole in the side of the steep bank of hay that 
half filled the loft, and saw that the mouth of it was 
being quickly stopped by wisps stuffed into it from 
within. Then, at a stroke, the hay thus placed was 
hauled back into the hole, and out popped Roy’s head 
again. 

“ How did you ever happen to think of that ? ” Tim- 
othy asked. 


206 


BOUND IN HONOK. 


“ I invented it while I was waiting for you — dug 
the hole, and disposed of the hay I pulled out by 
carrying it up over the top of the heap. Then, 
after I left you and came back into the barn, I climbed 
up on the ladder, got into my nest feet foremost, 
pushed the ladder aside, and had hay ready, which I 
stuffed out as soon as I heard somebody coming to 
the barn. The only inconvenience was, I nearly 
smothered. As soon as my friends were gone, I 
opened my den again pretty quick, I tell you, and 
slept very well afterward, with my nose to the air.” 

Timothy laughed in high glee, and told over all that 
had occurred the evening before, even to the turning 
of the fanning-mill to blow Roy out. 

After that, arose the question of breakfast. Timo- 
thy said he could smuggle a piece of dried beef, 
doughnuts, and apples into the barn, and give his 
guest all the milk he could drink ; he also engaged 
that one of the hens, familiarly styled “ Old Speck,” 
should lay in the course of the forenoon, and that he 
would show Roy how to suck an egg, if he didn’t 
know already. All which was thankfully accepted 
by the penniless, and now crackerless, fugitive. 

So Roy passed the day in the barn, not knowing 
what else to do, or where to go. In presence of Tim- 
othy, who visited him occasionally, he kept up a fine 
show of spirits ; but do not think he had no deeply 
thoughtful hours — sad hours of memory, apprehen- 
sion, and regret — during that long and lonesome Sun* 
day in the barn. 


DROLLERS BORROWS A LANTERN. 


207 


In his solitary hiding, he could hear the church- 
bells ring in Bayfield Village forty miles away ; he 
saw Mabel, dressed for church, beautiful, pensive, 
her soul at peace within those deep, dark eyes ; the 
good doctor and his wife jogging on behind her, talk- 
ing cheerfully, in low tones, and following her with 
glances of love and pride, as of old — all as if the 
wretched runaway and his faults were forgotten long 
ago. 

He penciled a few words of explanation to Florinda, 
which he intrusted to Timothy, to be delivered after 
he was gone. And that was to be soon ; for one day 
of this Robinson Crusoe business in a barn was enough 
for a lad like Roy. 

In the afternoon, the old lady went to church, leav- 
ing Timothy to take care of the premises. Roy fared 
well in her absence ; so well, indeed, that, on her re- 
turn, she marveled how Timothy could do his duty at 
table so faithfully, and yet make way with so many 
doughnuts between meals. 

Roy told Timothy not to be surprised if, at any 
time, coming to the barn, he should find the door 
unbarred and the den empty. He meant this for 
a good-by ; and, waking long before dawn the next 
morning, he stole out of his hiding-place, and took 
the lonely, starlit road to the brickyards. 


208 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

AN ADVENTURE WITH A FAMOUS STEED. 

I T was not yet day when he reached the place which 
he had heard Lassarde describe. He knew it 
by the rows of low wooden houses, in some of which 
he saw lights. At two of these, he stopped, and 
inquired for a man of the name of Lizard. 

Nobody knew “ a man of the name of Lizard.” 
The man was well enough known, indeed ; but the 
people were Canadian-French, and they did not rec- 
ognize their countryman under that reptilian title. 

Fortunately, at the third house, “ Lizard ” himself 
came to the door. He was in his shirt sleeves, chew- 
ing a piece of mutton. He appeared greatly surprised, 
if not much delighted, at seeing Roy, and asked him 
into the house. 

The young man found himself in a room dimly 
lighted by a lamp on a table, at which his friend had 
evidently been eating an early breakfast. There was 
a small cooking-stove with red-hot covers ; a tumbled, 
bed, on the same antique bedstead which Roy had 
once seen on its travels ; another bed, on the floor, 
where several little Lizards were still sleeping, or 


AN ADVENTURE. 


209 


peeping out with small, black eyes to see the stranger 
Madame Lassarde, an immense woman for so small a 
husband, was also present, in fearful dishabille, par- 
ticularly as to hair and petticoat. There was also in 
the room a mingled atmosphere of kitchen and sleep- 
ing apartment, which Roy did not find specially in- 
viting. 

He told his story briefly, and came at once to busi- 
ness. He could not get his money from the ice-com- 
pany without going himself for it, which he durst not 
do ; he had not a cent in the world ; he was therefore 
compelled to ask Lassarde for the five dollars which 
he had loaned him to buy his horse. 

44 I hain’t got a dollar’n a world, no more’n you,” 
replied the Canadian. 

44 Weren’t you paid off Saturday night ? ” 

“ Yes, I was git my pay ; but, when I go buy some 
groce’ies for my family, I expec’ git some credit ; but 
I git no credit, an’ I haf to pay up old account, jes’ for 
dat Obed Hocum ; he mad to me as he can live, ’cause 
I was your friend on ice. I manage keep back tree 
dollar ; but I mus’ buy some meat, an’ wen I git 
home I haf to pay some rent for my house, an’ it take 
all, ev’y dollar I got in a world.” 

Roy’s countenance betrayed his disappointment. 

44 I hoped I should never have to call on you for 
that money, Lizard ; but, you see — well ! ” choking 
back his too full heart, “ if you can do nothing for 
me, I suppose there is nothing more to be said.” 

44 1 dunno’, you seddown, you wan’ some breakfas’. 

14 


210 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


I will haf fry some more piece meat ; ” and Lassarde 
added a few words to his wife in their own language. 

Roy said he could not eat ; but, Lassarde insisting, 
he consented, not from appetite, but prudence. 

The little man was full of his regrets. 

“ Too bad now I got not’n fo’ you ! I dunno’ wot 
I do. I might sell dat ’oss. He was ver’ good ’oss ; 
but, how I shall keep him till spring, I bet I dunno’. 
I got ’bout out o’ hay. I might sell dat ’oss.” 

“ Why don’t you sell him ? ” 

“ Man down by Red Mills wan’ to buy him ; he of- 
fer seven dollar ; I t’ink now I sell him.” 

“ How far is it to Red Mills ? and who is the man?” 

“ ’Bout mile ’n’ half ; one of our people, name 
Zhoseph Perrot. He say Billy ver’ good ’oss.” 

“ Go right down with me now,” said Roy ; “ take 
the horse, and get your money.” 

“ I’ve no time go dare now ; I mus’ be on ice seven 
o’clock ; I mus’ start. But I say wot you do. You 
take dat ’oss, go sell him to Perrot, keep your five 
dollar ; my boy will go show you, and bring back 
bridle an’ two dollar for me.” 

Roy did not much like this arrangement ; neither 
did the boy, whom a sharp volley of the father’s Ca- 
nadian-French brought up, rubbing his eyes, and whim- 
pering, from the bed in the corner. But it seemed 
the only thing to do ; and, leaving the lad to follow 
with Billy, Roy hastened to get out of the unsavory 
atmosphere of the house, and set off on the road to 
Red Mills, nibbling alternately, by the way, one of 


AN ADVENTURE. 


211 


Timothy’s doughnuts and a piece of madame’s fried 
mutton, which he carried in his fingers. 

Starlight was fading into daylight when a fair-haired 
youth on foot, and a black-haired boy on horseback, 
arrived at Perrot’s house, and knocked at the door. 

Perrot — Avho was not yet up — opened a window, 
and put out a night-capped head. Between him and 
young Lizard, a vehement conversation ensued in 
their native tongue, Roy listening with intense inter- 
est, though he understood not a word. He mistook 
the man’s emphasis and shrugs and nods of his night- 
capped head for expressions of anger, and anxiously 
asked the boy what was said. 

“ He says he would have bought the horse last 
week, for then he knew where he could buy a cart ; 
but now another man has bought the cart, and he 
don’t want a horse.” 

Perrot understood what was spoken in English, 
and added, in his own language, young Lizard again 
translating : — 

“ It is a Yankee who bought the cart. His name 
is Willis. He lives about three-quarters of a mile 
down the new road. He wants a cheap horse, and 
he will buy Billy.” 

After that, the night-capped head disappeared, and 
the window closed. 

“ Then,” said Roy, recovering from his momentary 
chagrin, “ we must go and find Willis.” 

The black-haired boy, who had been provokingly 
cheerful over the failure of the negotiation with Per- 
rot, put on a grimace of dissatisfaction. 


212 


BOUND TN HONOR. 


“ Why not ? ” cried Roy. 

“Because you will sell the horse.” 

“ But that’s what we want to do, isn’t it ? ” 

“ ’Tain’t what I want to do,” replied the little Liz- 
ard, frankly. “ I want to keep him. I git rides 
every day on his back.” 

Roy looked at the little rascal, sitting proudly erect 
on a bit of old blanket, tied on by one of Lassarde’s 
rope reins to modify the sharpness of the poor beast’s 
backbone, and laughed in spite of his anxiety and 
irritation. 

“ But you have your father’s orders to help me sell 
him.” 

“ He didn’t tell me to go anywhere but to Perrot’s. 
If you sold him here, I should have fur enough to 
walk back. If you sell him to Willis, it will be 
further. Wouldn’t I be a fool to go?” 

“ The horse is going anyway,” exclaimed Roy ? 
laying hold of the rope-bridle. “ Go with him or not, 
as you please. But I advise you to go, and carry 
back the blanket, bridle, and money, what we get 
over five dollars, if you don’t want your father to 
give you the worst licking you ever had ! ” 

“ He won’t lick me! ” said the boy. “ My mother 
will take my part. She can lick my father with one 
hand, while she’s cooking supper with the other, and 
have two fingers left for another feller jest like him.” 

“ Go, then, to accommodate me,” said Roy. “You 
know you never would have had the horse at all, if I 
hadn’t given the money to buy him.” 


AN ADVENTURE. 


213 


But the ungrateful wretch seemed to think that all 
Roy had done for the family was canceled by his 
present ruthless attempt to deprive them of the object 
of their affections. 

The argument next advanced — that the family 
could not afford to keep so expensive a pet — the boy 
refuted by saying, with reason , — 

“We can keep him now as well as we ever could ; 
he’s got use to living without eating.” 

Then, as Roy persisted in leading the animal away, 
the supple rider slipped off into the snow, and scam- 
pered home with all his might. This, to Roy, was an 
unexpected move ; and he stood a moment, dismayed 
at the bare possibility of being left with that dread- 
ful anatomy of a horse on his hands. 

“ Here ! come back ! take your old nag ! ” he shouted. 

But in vain. The Lizard ran all the faster, either 
not understanding the liberal terms offered, or think- 
ing them a snare to catch him, and fearing Roy might 
lay the family under still further obligations by giving 
him the trouncing he did not dread from his father. 

Y exed, yet amused, at this odd turn of affairs, Roy 
laughed ironically, as he pulled poor Billy by his bridle 
of rope to lead him on. Billy was not a very satisfac- 
tion beast to lead. He had a way, when pulled un- 
commonly hard, of stopping short, throwing up his 
head, and uttering a groan. At the same time, he 
opened his grinning jaws, as if, like Balaam’s beast 
of old, he had been going to speak, and unburden 
his mind of something mighty disagreeable. All 


214 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


which, at that hour in the morning, and in that soli- 
tary situation, had a ghastly effect. 

After one such groan, inexpressibly long-drawn and 
dismal, having no breath left for the distressing re- 
mark he had seemed about to make, the miserable 
brute settled back, as if minded then and there to lie 
down in the snow and give up his weary ghost. 

But he did not lie down. He acted as if he couldn’t 
lie down — as if he were stiffening already on his four 
props, and hadn’t force enough left to unbrace and let 
himself sink decently to the ground. 

“Good heavens!” thought Roy, “he is going to 
die standing ! ” 

Appalled by the thought of so hideous and unheard- 
of a catastrophe, he was wondering whether it might 
not be his duty to help the creature a little, at least 
so far as to push him over comfortably into a bed of 
snow by the roadside, — when Billy suddenly recovered 
himself, and looked about him with an expression of 
countenance remarkably cheerful, considering the 
circumstances. 

“ Billy,” said Roy, excitedly, “ none of your tricks 
with me ! Will you come along ?” 

Billy would come slowly ; but, when Roy pulled to 
make him come faster, he threw up his head with 
another of those dreary, disheartening groans. 

Then Roy reflected : — 

“ He is better to ride than to lead. Little Lizard 
actually got some trot out of him. I’ve had a tire- 
some tramp this morning ; I’ve a long day before me, 
and suppose now — ” 


AN ADVENTURE. 


215 


He looked all around. It was broad day ; but no 
living creature was in sight save the horse. It was 
a temptation. Roy yielded. Placing himself beside 
Billy, with one hand on his mane and the other on 
the rope-bound blanket, he sprang, kicked, scrambled, 
and came up astride that ridge-pole of the equine 
structure commonly called the backbone. 

“ Get up, Billy ! ” 

But Billy was none of your frisky, frolicsome, hair- 
trigger colts that go off at a touch, and scare timid 
riders out of their wits. When told to “get up,” 
he always thought twice about it. Deliberation was 
his strong point. 

Roy arranged the blanket, in order, if possible, to 
make his seat a little less excruciating. 

“ Come now, Billy ! If I can stand it, I guess you 
can ! ” applying rope’s-end and heel in good Cannuck 
fashion. “ Heave ho ! anchor up ! helm aport ! Hur- 
rah!” Kick, kick! slap, slap! “Three cheers for 
the red, white, and blue ! ” 

Thus impelled, that foundered craft, Billy, settled 
over to larboard, gave a sudden lurch to starboard, 
threatening for a moment to go down with all on 
board, then, with groaning timbers, heaved slowly 
into motion, answered the helm, came round beauti 
fully on the other tack, and Roy was launched on hia 
new and brilliant career. 


216 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. 

R OY reached Willis’s house without accident, 
went dashing up to the door at a pace which 
would have been considered spirited for a snail, 
shouted “Whoa! whoa!” two or three times, like one 
restraining a mettlesome steed, and was cheered by the 
sight of an old one-horse cart, pitched over on its nose 
under a dilapidated shed. 

He was also pleased to see come out of the house 
a slouching fellow, who looked like the sort of man 
a cheap horse would suit. 

u Is this Mr. Willis ? Whoa ! ” said Roy, giving 
the reins a jerk. “ I heard you wanted to buy a — 
whoa, Billy ! can’t you be still a minute ? — a horse, a 
not very high-priced horse, Mr. Willis. Whoa, I say ! ” 
“ Wal, I have talked on’t. That animal for sale?” 
“ Yes, Mr. Willis — whoa, Billy ! He’s a much 
better horse than he looks ; but probably you know 
about horses, and can see that yourself. There’s 
stuff — whoa, Billy ! ” — Roy kept jerking the reins to 
make him start, while he appeared to be holding him 
in, and subduing his ambition — “ there’s spirit in him 


A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. 


217 


yet. He only needs a little hay now, and a few oats 
— whoa, I tell yon ! — to bring him up.” 

“ Wal, what ye ’xpect to git for the critter? ” said 
Willis, slouching around, and turning his quid at 
Billy’s points. 

If the man had not looked quite so cool and sar- 
castic, Roy would have said “ Ten dollars.” As it 
was, he put a check upon his avarice, and answered, 
modestly, “Seven dollars, Mr. Willis, — a very low 
figure — and I assure you — hold still, you brute ! — 
such another bargain won’t come to your door every 
day in the week.” 

“I should ruther think not!” said Mr. Willis. 
“ Don’t hold him in ; let him go once. I want to 
see how he moves off.” 

“ All right ! ” cried Roy. “ Get up, Billy ! ” Billy 
thought once. “ Get up, I say ! ” Kick, kick ! Billy 
thought twice. “ Go ’long, you brute !” Kick, kick! 
Slap, slap ! 

Billy thought three times, groaned, lurched, settled 
over, heaved ahead, and finally unstiffened into a 
walk. 

“ He is very kind, you see,” said Roy, bringing him 
around. “ Some horses, held in so long, would rear 
and pitch. He don’t rear and pitch.” 

The man bulged his cheek on one side, smiled ever 
so slightly on the other, and answered : — 

“ No, he don’t rear and pitch — not much ! It’ll 
take a pile o’ hay to keep him till spring !” 

“ That depends on how you keep him. He can eat 


218 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


a little or a good deal ; he’s a perfectly well-disciplined 
horse.” 

“ Wal,” said the man, slouching around again, and 
looking for spavins and ringbones, which were plenty, 
“ I d’n’ know — ” 

“ Well-shod, you see,” put in Roy. “Shoes go 
with the horse.” 

“ I can’t give seven dollars,” said Willis, after see- 
ing Billy walk off again. “1*11 give you five — 
that’s all I will give.” 

This was so much better than Roy was beginning 
to expect, that he could hardly conceal his exultation. 
He put on a look of doubt and dissatisfaction, how- 
ever, and said — 

“ Oh, now, Mr. Willis, I am surprised at your mak- 
ing such an offer as that ! ” (which was indeed the 
truth). “ Say six dollars, and it’s a bargain. Perrot 
would have given seven, but you got the cart, and so 
he don’t want a horse. Come, say six. Five and a 
half then,” Roy insisted. “ You won’t ? Well, then, 
five it is, Mr. Willis.” 

But, as Roy was on the point of dismounting, Willis 
remarked that he wasn’t prepared to pay cash that 
morning ; he was “ thunderin’ short,” and Roy would 
have to wait a few days for his money. 

That did not suit Roy’s case at all ; and, vexed at 
having lost so much time and so many words, and 
jerked and whoaed poor Billy to no purpose, he kicked 
and slapped him into motion again, and rode off down 
the road. 


A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. 


219 


Willis followed with regretful eyes, the sight of 
which encouraged Roy. 

“ Billy is really in demand,” thought he. “ Perrot 
would have bought him if he had had a cart ; and 
Willis would have rushed into the same extravagance 
if he had had five dollars. I shall find some man 
waiting to be made happy by owning such a treasure ! ” 
He next offered him for sale to an Irish laborer he 
met on the road. 

“ What will I be buyin’ a horse for ? ” said Patrick. 
“ To make him work for you. Put him in a cart.” 
“ Ah ! ” said Patrick, the brightness of the idea and 
a red ray of the sunrise lighting up his countenance 
at the same moment. “ It is what he is good for ! 
Put him in a cart, and get a better horse to draw him ! ” 
“ Look here, Pat, ” cried Roy, “ will you take him 
as a gift? ” 

Pat looked Billy and his rider soberly all over, and 
then answered, with a hurt expression, — 

“ What have I done to yez that ye’se thinkin’ to 
make me a gift o’ that same ? ” 

Roy did not find these answers very flattering to 
his pride as Billy’s rider, or to his hopes of making a 
very large fortune out of him that morning. 

“ Well, Pat,” he answered, good humoredly, “ I 
see you are a man of sense, and, as a friend, I advise 
you not to buy a horse ; it would only make you vain, 
you know. But, honestly, Pat, do you think of any- 
body I might possibly sell him to ? ” 

“I do that! Sure it’s the nager, Woolly Thomp- 


220 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


son, down by the brick schoolhouse, that’ll buy him. 
He had a very illegant hoss, did Woolly Thompson ; 
only a leg of him was the slightest bit too much the 
shape of a churn by the bottom. The foot and there- 
abouts was the size of a good fair choppin’ -block — I’m 
sphakin’ of the horse’s leg, an’ not the nager’s. It 
was ivery bit as fine an animal as yer own, barrin’ the 
leg of him. But Woolly took him to town ; and, by 
ill luck, one of thim bad-mannered, prayjidised chaps, 
callin’ thimsilves agents or somethin’ of the previn- 
tion of cruelty to animals, gobbles up the baste, an’ 
claps a fine on poor Thompson for drivin’ a leg like 
that same. An’ now he’ll be mighty tickled, I promise 
ye, to have another hoss as good.” 

“ Thank ye, Pat,” said Roy. 

“ Ye’se welcome intirely, Mr Johnson.” 

“ Who told you my name was Johnson ?” 

“Ah!” grinned the other, “ an’ who tould ye my 
name was Pat ? ” 

This set Roy to thinking about the name he should 
assume in his new character, and he said to himself, 
as he rode on, — 

“ I have been Mr. Walker about long enough ; now 
I think I am entitled to call myself Mr. Ryder.” 

He sought out the “ nager,” whom he found chop- 
ping brushwood at his door, and proposed to him to 
buy Billy. Thompson shook his head. 

“ I can’t afford to buy up no more horses for the 
dumb-animals folks to rob me of, and fine me for 
driving ! ” 


A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. 


221 


“Yon don’t think they would seize this horse!” 
exclaimed Roy. 

“ They would, sure as the world, if I should be 
seen working him,” said Thompson. “ Besides, I’ve 
sold my cart now, and I’ve no use for a horse.” 

“ Who bought your cart ? ” 

“ A man name of Willis ; he hain’t paid me for it 
yet, and I don’t know as he ever will.” 

“ If you had only sold it to Perrot ! ” exclaimed 
Roy. 

“ Perrot would have bought it, and paid cash for 
it,” said Thompson ; “ but he couldn’t get a horse.” 

Things seemed sadly out of joint — the cart before 
the horse, generally — to young Mr. Ryder. He heart- 
ily wished now that Lassarde had Billy back again ; 
but he dared not return with him, fearing that Drol- 
lers might be on his track. 

He spurred on, figuratively speaking, and, entering 
a small village, offered to sell Billy to the blacksmith. 
When asked the price, he reflected that he had per- 
haps put too low an estimate upon the horse before, 
and replied, — 

“Will you give twenty-five dollars ? ” 

“ I don’t think I will,” said the smith. 

“Will you give me twenty-five cents? ” 

“ I don’t think I will.” 

“ Will you buy his shoes ? ” 

“ I don’t think I will.” 

“ Then, it appears,” said Roy, “ that you and I can’t 
trade. Good-morning.” 


222 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Riding on, he and poor Billy had to run the gant- 
let of the hootings and, what was worse, the snow- 
balls of a set of wild schoolboys, who pursued them 
out of the village. Billy’s natural color was a faded, 
a sadly faded, and sickly bay ; but he was covered, 
hip and thigh, head and flank, with white spots, be- 
fore ever the bell rang that called off the yelling and 
pelting crew. 

Roy received his share of the snowballs, one of 
which knocked off his hat. He asked a small boy to 
pick it up. Small boy declined, and began to harden 
a snowball. 

“Pick up that hat,” cried Roy, “or I’ll wheel this 
horse about, and ride right over you.” 

“ You can’t. I’ll run into the schoolhouse.” 

“ I’ll ride him into the schoolhouse, and over the 
teacher’s desk, — he’s the most reckless horse you 
ever saw, — and not leave a bone in your skin big 
enough to shake in a rattle-box.” 

Roy said this with so resolute an air and in so fierce 
a tone, that the boy, frightened out of his judgment, 
picked up the hat, and handed it to him, in the midst 
of a storm of whizzing snowballs which now concen- 
trated on him. 

“ Why don’t you ride over them ? ” shrieked the 
small boy. 

“ I will when I come back this way,” said Roy, 
kicking and slapping to move Billy out of range. “I 
haven’t time this morning.” 

Pursuing his journey, he offered the horse every 


A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. 


223 


where, and several times came within an if or two of 
selling him. Meanwhile, rider and beast needed rest 
and refreshment. 

Looking anxiously for some relief to the pinch they 
were in, Roy asked a man on the road who lived in 
the next house ; for, like a first-class tramp, he had 
learned the advantage of knowing the names of peo- 
ple he called upon. 

“ Caleb Lusk,” was the reply. “ He may buy your 
horse ; he has plenty of hay. But, come to think, he 
went to town this forenoon.” 

Roy rode into the open farm-yard, and, leaving his 
horse under a shed, went briskly to the door, and 
knocked. 

“ Does Mr. Caleb Lusk live here ? ” he asked, with 
the air of a person having important business to 
transact. 

Being told what he knew before, — that Mr. Lusk 
lived there but was not at home, — he feigned disap- 
pointment, saying : — 

“ I wish to see him for something very particular,” 
upon which he was asked to come in and wait. 
“ Thank you, — perhaps — if I — can I put my horse 
in the barn ? ” 

Permission being granted, Billy was stabled, with a 
good rack-full of hay before his nose ; Roy looked out 
for that, the little stratagem he had used being much 
more for Billy’s sake than his own. 

“ Now,” thought he, “ friend Lusk may stay away 
a week, if he likes ; Billy and I won’t complain.” 


221 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


The women-folks were attentive and affable toward 
the stranger, though they must have thought him very 
dull at taking a hint to tell his business. He made 
acquaintance with the children, and amused them for 
an hour by whittling playthings for them, and teach- 
ing them little games in the chimney corner. Then, 
dinner-time having arrived, — the obliging Mr. Lusk 
being still absent, — Roy was invited to “ sit by.” 

He wished to excuse himself; for he was really 
ashamed of imposing so far upon the hospitality of 
these good-natured people. He trembled, moreover, 
with dread of seeing Mr. Lusk return to surprise him 
in the midst of a meal obtained under — well, yes — - 
false pretences. The women urged him, however; 
his own hunger seconded their solicitation ; and, 
with appetite impaired somewhat by apprehensions, 
which he mistook for qualms of conscience, he paid 
his respects to the baked potatoes and fried bacon. 

Seeing him nervous and uneasy after dinner, the 
women thought to pacify him by the assurance that 
Mr. Lusk could not remain much longer away — that 
they were looking for him every minute. 

“So am I,” thought Roy. And, he added, aloud, 
“ Perhaps I had better call again.” 

Pie was now in so great a hurry to get off, that he 
dreaded the delay of taking Billy out of the barn. 
He reflected, moreover, that, if the family had not 
noticed the horse particularly when he rode him in, 
they would be sure to do so when he rode him out. So 
he proposed to leave him until his return, which might 
be, he said, in th® course of about an hour and a half. 


A BEGGAR ON HORSEBACK. 


225 


“ If I return ! ” he exclaimed aloud to himself, as 
he hurried down the road ; for a perfidious thought 
had tempted him to pay for his entertainment, and, at 
the same time, rid himself of what had become to him 
rather a nightmare than a horse, by never returning 
at all. 

He had gone about half a mile, and was chuckling 
nervously — and, I am happy to add, somewhat re- 
morsefully — over the astonishment of Caleb at find- 
ing Billy permanently quartered in his barn, when a 
fast-driven sleigh came at his heels. 

Having satisfied himself that the driver was not 
Drollers, he stepped aside to let it pass, when it pulled 
up suddenly, and a mild-featured man said, — 

44 You have some business with me, I believe.” 

44 Oh ! ” said Roy, with a sickly sort of smile, 44 this 
is — Mr. Lusk? ” 

It was Mr. Lusk, who, reaching home soon after the 
stranger left, had been thoughtful enough to drive 
after him, and learn his particular business. 

44 I have a horse to sell you, Mr. Lusk,” said Roy, 
putting on a bold front. “ A man back here said he 
thought you would buy him.” 

Mr. Lusk seemed rather surprised at that. 

4 4 Whoever the man was,” he said, 44 1 am afraid he 
has put you to some useless trouble.” 

44 Oh, I don’t mind that,” said Roy ; 44 though, after 
waiting for you two hours or more, I shall be a little 
disappointed if we can’t make a trade.” 

There was nothing else for him to do but to get 

15 


226 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


into the sleigh, and ride back with Mr. Lusk to the 
barn. At sight of Billy, Mr. Lusk looked puzzled 
and amused. 

“ The man was crazy,” he said, “ to think I would 
buy a horse like that.” 

“ Won’t you give something for him ? ” 

“Not a cent! I wouldn’t have him on my prem- 
ises. I should dread he’d give my horse the glan- 
ders.” 

“ I’m afraid you’re prejudiced against the horse,” 
said Roy. “A few weeks at your well-filled mangers 
would make a very different-looking beast of him.” 

But his arguments availed nothing with Mr. Lusk, 
who, however, took the whole thing so much more 
good-naturedly than might have been expected, that 
Roy was glad to get off as he did. 

Billy did not like to leave the stall and hay-rack ; 
and Roy had a rather hard time getting him out of 
the yard. He kicked and slapped and scolded till he 
was fiery red in the face ; and it was not soothing to 
his pride to feel Mr. Lusk smiling at him from the 
barn door, and the faces of all the friendly women- 
folks staring at him from the windows. 


HOW BOY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE. 227 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


HOW ROY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE FOR A LOCOMOTIVE COW- 
CATCHER. 



HE weather, which had been fine in the morning, 


A became lowering in the afternoon ; and night 
closed in early, with a violent snow-storm. 

Finding that he could neither sell Billy nor give 
him away, Roy had made several attempts to aban- 
don him in some quiet manner that did not seem too 
inhuman. Once, he left him in the lee of a straw 
stack, and was making off, when the owner of the 
stack came shouting at his heels, and ordered him to 
take “ that gol-dumbed critter away!” Next, he put 
him under a tavern shed ; and, having sat awhile in 
the bar-room, was walking off, with an absent-minded 
air, when the landlord called rather sharply to re- 
mind him that he had forgotten something — that 
something being the horse. 

Whenever he stopped at any place, he did not take 
the trouble to hitch Billy, hoping — alas, in vain ! — 
that he would take it into his head to run away. Any 
other horse would have been sure to do that ; but he 
always found Billy patiently awaiting his return. 


228 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Thus, night and the snow-storm overtook him, 
while he was still traveling in company with this ter- 
rible, not-to-be-got-rid-of fate, or phantom, in the form 
of a horse. The storm was in his face ; and he was 
bending to it, blinded and deafened by its force, 
when a hand clutched his leg. 

He had lapsed into a sort of dreamy state ; and, for 
a moment, he imagined that some farmer, at whose 
barn door Billy had been abandoned, had followed, 
in a fury, to tell him to take the beast away. But 
the reality was revealed to him at a glance. He was 
mounted on Billy’s back ; and the man who had 
clutched him was Droll ers. 

Tho constable had waited all the forenoon for his 
victim to show himself in the vicinity of the ice-com- 
pany’s office, when, hearing from a Canadian that Roy 
had been seen early in the morning at the brickyards, 
inquiring for a 44 man of the name of Lizard,” he 
drove over to Lizard’s house, and so got on the fugi- 
tive’s track. 

“ Drollers,” said Roy, 44 how are you?” 

“ Considerably better for seeing you,” replied Drol- 
lers, holding him with a firm grip. 44 I’ll trouble you 
to get off this horse, and come with me in my cutter.” 

44 Drollers,” said Roy, “ you are inconsiderate ! Do 
you think I can bear to quit a beast I’ve become so 
attached to ? ” 

44 Get off, or I’ll pull you off! You are my pris- 
oner.” And Roy heard something rattle in the offi- 
cer’s other hand. It was a pair of handcuffs. 


HOW ROY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE. 


229 


“ Don’t put those things on me ! ” said Roy, sobered 
at the prospect. “ I promise to go with you, without 
any resistance, if you won’t. Come, Drollers, you 
know I’m a fellow of my word, whatever else I am.” 

“All I know is you’ve played me tricks enough, 
and I’m going to make sure of you this time,” replied 
the constable. 

To avoid being dragged from the horse, Roy dis- 
mounted. The officer’s horse, which had been driven 
without bells, stood near by, dim in the driving 
storm. 

Drollers held one of the captive’s arms, and was 
about adjusting the handcuffs to the wrist, when, with 
a swift blow of the other arm, Roy sent them whirling 
into the air. They must have struck the horse ; for 
he was off at a bound, with the cutter at his heels. 

Drollers might have caught him, if he had not been 
embarrassed by his prisoner. Roy did not accommo- 
date himself to the constable’s motions ; and, almost in 
an instant, the frightened animal shot out of sight 
and hearing. 

“ You’d better have taken my promise,” said Roy, 
quietly. “Now, where are your handcuffs?” 

Drollers searched the drifts, fumbling about and 
stamping with his great feet ; but no handcuffs were 
discovered, for the reason, which afterward appeared, 
that, glancing from the horse’s hips, they had fallen 
over the dasher, and been carried off in the sleigh. 

But Drollers was not to be baffled by a single acci- 
dent. He had a strong cord in his pocket, with which 


230 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


he bound Roy’s hands behind him, drawing the knots 
till he made him cry out. He had already taken away 
his knife. 

“ Now,” said Roy, “you had better shoulder me; 
for, with that cord cutting my wrists, I won’t walk.” 

“You shall ride then,” said Drollers. “Take your 
choice, — sit on the horse or be tied on.” 

Roy preferred to sit, and remounted Billy, with 
the constable’s assistance. Drollers then made a 
noose in the bridle-rope, slipped it over his prisoner’s 
foot, tightened it on the ankle, and held it firmly, 
while he walked by Billy’s head, — notin the direction 
he wished to go, but in that which his own runaway 
horse had taken. 

Roy’s situation seemed hopeless ; and, indeed, he 
was so weary of vagabond life that he would not have 
Dbjected very strongly to riding back with Drollers, in 
a respectable way, and taking his chances in jail or 
out. But the treatment he was receiving from this 
dull-witted, coarse-handed officer angered him, and 
the cord hurt his wrists. Besides, his hands were 
cold, his mittens having been removed ; and it was 
perhaps this fact which first prompted him to work his 
fingers under the skirt of his coat. 

Succeeding in this, he passed his wrists up over the 
flattened sachel, which he still carried there, out of 
sight, until he found the buckle of the strap which 
bound it to his back. On the sharp teeth of that 
buckle, he began to saw the cord, wearing it away 
fiber by fiber, thread by thread. It was a slow process ; 


HOW ROY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE. 


231 


and often he cut his wrists instead of the cord. Now, 
the strain and exertion made his arms ache so that he 
had to stop and rest ; but it was only to begin again 
with fresh energy and resolution. In the course of 
time, he could sever the cord, he was sure ; and he 
rejoiced whenever Billy lurched or heaved to, as he 
frequently did, until Drollers had learned not to pul] 
him too hard by the bit. 

“ Ah, Billy ! ” he inwardly exclaimed, “ you are the 
horse for my money ! Be slow — be blessedly slow! 
Take your time ; deliberate ; think about it; — that’s 
a lovely Billy ! ” The cord was severed. 

Roy’s hands were now free ; but Drollers still held 
him by the noose tightened about his boot. To slip 
his foot out of the noose, with Drollers drawing so 
hard upon it, was impossible ; and any noticeable at- 
tempt to free himself must meet with failure, as the 
hand that held the rope would catch his leg. Ah, 
had Drollers only left him his knife ! Without that, 
stratagem was necessary. 

Having disentangled the cord from his wrists, he 
reached down, — while appearing to bend his head 
against the driving storm, — and made one end fast 
to the doubled rope, just beyond the noose at the 
ankle. Then, putting the other end under the rope 
girt that bound on Billy’s blanket, he pulled it gently 
through, close to his foot, drew it tight, and twisted 
it into a knot. While doing this, he had pressed his 
foot well back. Now, gradually lifting it forward, he 
was gratified to perceive that Drollers, instead of 


232 


BOUND IN HONOJft. 


drawing directly on his leg, drew upon the knotted 
cord and rope girt. 

All this time, Drollers was bending his own head 
against the fury of the snow-laden gale ; and storm 
and darkness united to conceal all suspicious move- 
ments on the part of his prisoner. Still, Roy could 
not pull his boot out of the noose. He soon made the 
discovery, however, that he could pull his foot out of 
the boot. This was done with extreme deliberation 
and care. It was then easy to slip the boot down out 
of the noose. 

The next thing was to pull the boot on again ready 
for a race through the drifts. This, too, was accom- 
plished without exciting the attention of Drollers, 
who was busy breasting the storm, urging Billy for- 
ward, and holding fast the rope which he believed 
still held the leg of the prisoner. 

Drollers looked around occasionally to see the dim 
outline of Roy on the horse. But once — just as he 
was entering a small village, where he hoped to get 
news of his own horse and cutter — he looked around, 
and saw no outline there. He made a clutch at the 
leg ; the leg was gone, and only an empty noose dan- 
gled in its place. Every sound which might have 
betrayed the prisoner’s escape was so lost in the 
whistling storm, or muffled in the new-fallen snow, 
that Roy had slipped away unperceived, and fled, 
leaving only the horse, which he had been so anxious 
to get rid of, in the officer’s hands. 

By climbing a fence and traversing the edge of a 


HOW ROY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE. 


233 


field, Roy managed to get ahead of Drollers ; and he 
laughed at the thought of the heavy constable plod- 
ding after him, holding fast by the deceptive rope, and 
laboriously leading poor Billy. He wished he could 
remain near enough to witness the worthy man’s 
amazement and disgust on discovering how he had 
been fooled, and to see how he would contrive to get 
rid of that dreadful horse. 

As he hurried by in the field, he could hear, half 
drowned in the bluster of the tempest, Dumpy’s sharp 
44 Come along, you brute ! ” and the pleasant thought 
occurred to him, 44 If I could only set an agent of the 
dumb-animals’ society on his track, and get him ar- 
rested for cruelty, as Woolly Thompson was ! ” But 
he had no leisure for carrying out so excellent a prac- 
tical joke. 

Entering, amid storm and darkness, the deserted 
village streets, he saw, in front of a tavern, three men 
with a lantern, looking over a horse and cutter, and 
heard one of them say, 44 He wa’n’t going very fast 
when Ike stopped him.” 

Another took up out of the sleigh an object, which 
all examined with curiosity. Roy passed near enough 
to see what it was — a pair of handcuffs. 

He was tempted to step boldly up to the men, claim 
the horse, thank them for stopping him step into the 
cutter, and drive out of the village on one side, while 
Drollers was entering it from the other. 

44 He has got my horse ; why shouldn’t I take his ? 
Exchange is no robbery ! ” And, for giving a happy 


234 


BOUND IN HONOB. 


turn to the adventure, he regarded this as the next 
thing to getting Dumpy arrested for cruel treatment 
of an unserviceable beast. 

He did not like the looks of the handcuffs, how- 
ever. The men appeared to be puzzling over the 
mystery ; and he feared it might lead to his being 
unpleasantly questioned, and delayed. 

He might have passed unnoticed; but the men were 
alert to find some explanation of the mystery, and one 
of them called after him. He pretended not to hear, 
as, with head down, he went plunging on in the 
storm. As soon as he thought himself out of sight, 
he began to run. 

The excitement or control of the body has often a 
corresponding effect on the mind ; and the very act 
of running let loose alarming fancies on his heels. 
Drollers would hurry into the village, find his own 
horse at the tavern, explain the meaning of the hand- 
cuffs, learn that the person on whose wrists they be- 
longed had just passed, and enlist the three men in 
his immediate pursuit. All this the fugitive vividly 
imagined ; and his fears were not far wrong. 

Suddenly, a man started out before him, with a 
swinging lantern and a waving flag. It was at a rail- 
road crossing. Then, before Roy could pass, a long 
passenger train came rushing in, with clanging bell, 
the great glare of the headlight illuming, for a mo- 
ment, the storm-enveloped track ; and stopped, with 
broadside to the street. 

Passengers were getting off on the other side, when 


HOW ROY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE. 235 


Roy, too impatient to wait for the train to take itself 
out of the way, and unwilling to expose himself to 
view by climbing over the platform and between the 
cars, set out to run down the track, and cross in front 
of the engine. 

He saw the engineer, with his back toward him, 
looking out for the conductor’s signal, and the fire- 
man shoveling coal into the grate, the open mouth of 
which shed a comfortable glow in the little room. 

“ If I could only get a ride on the locomotive, as I 
did once ! ” thought he. But, remembering that all 
engineers were not friendly, he did not venture the 
attempt. “ I might step on the train as it starts.” 
But he had no money, and did not like the idea of 
being ignominiously collared, and put off. 

There was one last and desperate resort. The wild 
wish to fly suddenly and mysteriously beyond Drol- 
lers’s reach, inspired the rash act ; the preoccupation 
of the engineer and the fireman seemed to favor it ; 
the blinding storm concealed it : he sprang upon the 
cow-catcher. 

Under the headlight, which flung its sheet of radi- 
ance before him into the speckled air and tempestu- 
ous gloom, — his back hidden by the boiler, his feet 
projecting over the slant side of the huge iron plow, 
one arm holding fast to an iron brace, — there he 
crouched and clung. 

He had hardly ensconced himself when the con- 
ductor’s signal-lantern waved. The bell repeated its 
terrible din ; the whistle uttered a fearful shriek ; the 


236 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


steam from the engine escaped with spasmodic gasp and 
wheeze ; and the great driving-wheels revolved, now 
with lightning-like swiftness, as they slipped on the 
coated rails, and now with slow, laborious motion, as 
the snow melted under them, and the locomotive’s 
enormous weight held them to the track. 

Slow at first, then fast and faster, away went the 
train, like a long, thundering, howling dragon, with 
Roy on its iron snout, plunging into the night, which 
it lighted with the glare of its one fierce, terrible eye 
as it went rushing on. It met the storm ; and, to Roy, 
it was like the meeting of two hurricanes, himself in 
the midst of the shock. 

The wedged-shaped iron frame rocked and bounded 
beneath him ; and he had to cling fast to the brace to 
keep from being shaken and blown away. The tele- 
graph-poles went flitting by, like live things pursued 
by the storm, chaos itself at their heels. The flying 
flakes struck his face and breast, like volleys of sharp 
sand. The hands of the tempest tore at his hair and 
hat ; the breath of the tempest sucked his own. He 
was buffeted, stiffled, stung. 

All the while, the engine uttered, from time to time, 
terrific yells, which went swooping on into the night 
and storm ; and the thunder of its speed mingled 
wildly with the roar of the gale. 

Riding in a warmed and lighted car at such a time, 
you know nothing of the commotion of the elements 
around you, nothing of the fearful force and velocity 
with which you are hurried on. Looking from the 


HOW E-OY EXCHANGED HIS HORSE. 237 


locomotive window, you begin to realize something 
of what they are ; but, to know them in all their ter- 
rors, you must ride the cow-catcher, as Roy did. 

Pelted, blinded, smothered, as he was, his head 
down, his hat pulled over his eyes and held on with 
one hand while he hugged the brace with the other, 
he could not help peering out through his half-closed 
lids for glimpses of the abyss they were dashing into ; 
for it seemed to him that, at any moment, this thun- 
derbolt, with him on its horn, might strike a loosened 
fragment of the world, pick up some poor pedestrian 
all too suddenly, or toss a sleigh and span of horses 
caught at a crossing, and make it bad business for him 
and them. 

Although the cow-catcher did not have the luck to 
encounter any of these things, which he had small 
reason to apprehend, it did take on board something 
else, which he should have been wise enough to foresee. 

Snow was beginning to lie on the track, in shel- 
tered places ; and once, as Roy peered forth, he saw a 
cloud fly up before him, rush past and over him, and 
vanish. They had cut through a drift. It was but 
a little one. Larger were to come ; and, at last, the 
train drove between high banks, where it was all 
drift. As the locomotive plowed through, the snow 
rose before it like a mighty fountain or inverted cascade 
of solid foam, which, fan-shaped, illumined by the 
headlight, deluged, overwhelmed poor Roy, and 
forced him finally to loose his hold, and go headlong 
from his seat. 


238 


BOUND IN HONOR* 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


A FELLOW TRAVELER, A PUBLIC HOUSE, AND A PRIVATE 
HOUSE. 



TIE engine had slackened speed on account of the 


X heavy obstruction ; and Roy had the adroitness 
to throw himself free from the cow-catcher into a 
drift. There, half-stunned and breathless, he lay 
buried until the train passed on. Then, slowly he re- 
covered himself, and crawled out. 

The first thing was to assure himself that he was 
not seriously hurt ; the next, to shake the snow out 
of his neck, hair, and clothing, and laugh at his wild 
adventure ; lastly, to find his way out of the storm and 
drifts, and seek some shelter for the night. 

“ I don’t know where I am, more than if I had been 
dropped from the moon ! ” thought he. 

Finding that the train had cleared a pretty good 
track for him, he followed it, and soon entered the 
open square of a village. As he was passing under a 
street-lamp, wondering how and where he was to get 
supper and a night’s lodging, a man in an army over- 
coat followed and accosted him. 

“ I beg pardon for troubling you ; I am not a beg- 


A FELLOW TRAVELER. 


239 


gar, but I find myself obliged to ask for a little assist- 
ance.” 

Roy thought he recognized the voice, and turned 
and looked at the man in the hazy lamp-light. 

“ I’m a machinist by trade. I’ve been at work in 
Springfield. But I injured my hand ; and now I want 
to get back to my friends in Newburyport. I’ve no 
money ; and, if you could give me a trifle — I’m a re- 
turned soldier — wounded at Gettysburg — carry the 
bullet in my leg to this day — ” 

Roy interrupted him. “ Seems to me I’ve heard 
that story before, or something like it. It takes you 
a good while to get to your friends ! I gave you 
half a dollar, when I needed it quite as much as you 
did, I’m thinking.” 

“ Don’t be too hard on a poor man,” replied the 
tramp. “ Whatever I may have told you, it wasn’t 
so bad as the truth. I’ve had no supper ; and I haven’t 
a cent in the world.” 

“ I’m precisely in your situation,” said Roy. “ I 
don’t expect any supper myself; and, what is worse, 
I’ve not the least idea where I am going to sleep.” 

The man’s whole manner changed. “ Look here ! ” 
said he. “ You did me a good turn once ; I remember 
you now. You gave me kind words ; and that was 
more to me than your money. I’m glad I’m in a way 
to return your favor.” 

“ What! have you got money ? ” said Roy. 

“ No ; that part of my storj r is always true enough. 
But, if you are really hard up for a night’s lodging, I 


240 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


can help yon to it, — supper besides, I guess. Come 
with me.” 

Surprise and curiosity impelled Roy to follow the 
tramp, who took him into the spacious entry of a pub- 
lic building on one side of the square. 

“We must wait here,” said the fellow, “till the 
town-clerk comes back from his supper. He will 
give us an order for supper and lodgings at the poor- 
house.” 

Roy drew back with disgust. 

“ You’ve been here before, then ! ” 

“Yes; half a dozen times. It’s one of the best 
stopping places on my beat. Some towns only give 
us straw to sleep on, a miserable little lock-up, and 
crackers and salt fish to eat. But this place is hunky ; 
and that’s the reason why we always come this 
way when we can, and are glad to get back here. 
The clerk can’t remember us all ; he keeps a record 
of us, but it’s easy to change our names any time. I 
was getting about played out here last winter ; but, 
lucky for me, and a good many of us, they changed 
the town-clerk at the March meeting. We were all 
new men again, this winter, to the new clerk.” 

“ Isn’t it a terrible life to live ? ” Roy exclaimed. 

“ I don’t suppose it is the life any of us would 
choose,” replied his valuable new acquaintance. “ I 
was really forced into it at first — health broke down 
— nothing I could do ; and now it comes easier than 
any thing else. If every poorhouse was like this ! ” 

“ Beds clean?” Roy asked. 


A FELLOW TRAVELER. 


241 


“ Beautiful! You wouldn’t get better at a hotel. 
Here comes our man now.” 

The town- clerk unlocked his office door ; and they 
followed him in — Boy reluctantly, and in a rage with 
himself at the thought of his having finally come to 
this. 

The clerk seemed to know the tramp’s business be- 
fore any words were spoken ; but he looked with some 
surprise at seeing a youth like Boy in such company. 

“ You’ve never been here before, I think,” he 
said. 

“No,” replied Boy; “ and I hope I never shall have 
occasion to come here again.” 

“ This other man,” continued the clerk, “ has been 
here two or three times to my knowledge.” 

The tramp protested that he had never been there 
before, and was registered under a new name — James 
Pike, going from Lowell to Providence. Boy also 
gave a fictitious account of himself ; and learned by 
experience how natural it is for a vagabond, among 
his many wanderings, to wander from the truth. 

“ I’ve sent four other of your sort of fellows ahead 
of you this evening,” pleasantly remarked the town- 
clerk, as he dismissed them ; “ and it don’t seem to be 
a very good night for tramps, either.” 

Boy followed his companion, who knew the way 
perfectly well, and found the almshouse all it had 
been recommended. There were but two of th* 
town’s poor under its roof ; the entire establishment 
which was large and expensive, being maintained 


242 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


chiefly (so at least Roy inferred) for the benefit of 
that numerous class of the traveling community to 
which he was now unfortunate enough to belong. 

On learning the name of this hospitable town, — 
which we shall not give for fear of sending more 
tramps that way, — Roy remembered that his friend 
Moke had an uncle there, whom Luke Meredith — 
an older brother of Moke’s — had once visited, and 
described as a “jolly old fellow.” 

One night, even in the best regulated almshouse, 
and the choicest company of vagrants, was enough for 
our hero ; and he determined to seek out this Uncle 
Sam the next morning, introduce himself as a friend 
of the nephew, and obtain of him, or through him if 
possible, something to do. 

Sam Paxley (everybody called him Sam) was a 
well-known farmer and fattener of poultry, in another 
part of the town, where, at about nine o’clock, the storm 
having subsided, Roy found him with a man-of-all- 
work, digging out drifts in his yard, in the midst of 
a grand concert of geese, ducks, turkeys, hens, roosters, 
— cackling, quacking, gobbling, crowing, in barns and 
sheds, or flitting about in the snow. Uncle Sam re- 
garded him with curious interest; and, barely waiting 
to hear the name of his nephew, struck his shovel into 
the drift, greeted him with a shake of the hand, and 
asked how and when he came to town. 

“I came — on the train — last evening,” Roy re- 
plied, not thinking it necessary to enter into particu- 
lars. 


A FELLOW TRAVELER. 


243 


“ Last evening,” said Uncle Sam. “ Where did 
you stop ? ” 

“At a — public house,” Roy answered, still chary 
of his details. 

“ What did you do that for ? Why didn’t you 
come right here? The idea of your stopping at a 
public house ! Walk right in. Tell the folks who 
you are — or, wait! I’ll go with you.” 

Roy had good reason to be astonished at this sort 
of welcome from a stranger, on whom he had so slight, 
so very slight, a claim. 

“ But, Mr. Paxley, — ” he began. 

“ Don’t mister me,” cried the jolly old fellow (Roy 
thought Luke had characterized him correctly). 

“ Why, what shall I call you ? ” 

“ Call me ? Call me Uncle Sam, as Luke does.” 

“ Certainly, thank you, if you wish it,” said Roy, 
more and more astonished. “ But I didn’t know I 
had the right, seeing I am not related to you, as 
f uke is.” 

“Not related? Well, well! of course. But call 
l te Uncle Sam, all the same.” 

“Well, Uncle Sam,” laughed Roy, “excuse me a 
moment. I was going to say I had not come to in- 
trude myself upon you — ” 

“ Intrude ! Who says intrude ? Why, I’ve been 
expecting you for three days.” 

“ Eh ? Expecting me ? ” 

“You see,” Uncle Sam explained, good-naturedly 
laughing, “ I’ve had a letter from Luke. He has 


244 


BOUND IN HONOE. 


written me all about it. So, it seems you got into a 
foolish kind of scrape, did you? Well, well! Young 
blood! I was young myself once. I sowed my wild- 
oats, and reaped ’em too. Luke’s a pretty steady 
fellow, ain’t he ? ” 

Roy made some sort of stammering response. He 
was still too much amazed and mystified to know just 
what to say. He was not on intimate terms with 
Luke ; and he couldn’t conceive why Luke should 
have taken the trouble to write about him. 

“ It must be,” thought he, “ that Moke put him up 
to it ; but what ever made Moke think I might come 
here ?” And, really, it did not seem like Moke to be 
so thoughtful of anybody but himself. 

Uncle Sam took Roy into the house, and went to 
announce his arrival to the women-folks. 

“ Ironing-day, and the}*’re pesky busy,” he said, 
coming back to the family-room, where he had left 
Roy wondering. “But they’ll slick up, and see ye in 
a minute.” 

“That will be giving them too much trouble. I 
can see them by-and-by,” Roy replied. “ Let me go 
now and help you shovel snow.” 

Uncle Sam agreed ; and Roy, glad to be able to do 
something in return for this unlooked-for hospitality, 
worked with right good will about the poultry-yard 
until dinner-time. 

“ Here’s the young man, mother ! ” cried Uncle 
Sam, taking him once more into the house, where he 
was greeted with a kind “ How d’e do ? ” from Mrs. 


A FELLOW TRAVELER. 245 

Paxley, and a bashful smile from the blushing 
daughter. 

A good farmer’s dinner was served ; but, just as the 
family, seated at table , were warming into a conver- 
sation with their guest, the pleasure of the occasion 
was a good deal marred for him by the entrance of * 
tall man in a gray overcoat. 

u Any particular business with me, Mr. Freelan?” 
said Uncle Sam, greeting him in neighborly fashion. 

“ No hurry, no hurry, Mr. Paxley ; I can wait,” re- 
plied the visitor, taking a seat by the door. 

“ Sit up and have some dinner with us, won’t you ?” 
said Uncle Sam. 

Mr. Freelan declined this cordial invitation, and, 
leaning back in his chair to be more at his ease, threw 
open the lapels of his gray overcoat. 

There was another coat buttoned beneath, on the 
breast of which Roy noticed, with a thrill that was 
any thing but pleasant, a policeman’s badge. At the 
same time, Mr. Freelan’s gray eye rested on him with 
a peculiarly steady regard. 

Uncle Sam now remembered that rural civility, 
which differs in some respects from the politness of 
the town, required that he should introduce his vis- 
itors. 

“ Mr. Freelan, let me make you acquainted with my 
nephew, Moses Meredith, son of my brother-in-law, 
Minister Meredith, of Bayfield.” 

“Ah!” said Mr. Freelan, nodding and smiling,* 
“ Mr. Meredith, happy to see you,” 


246 


BOUND m HQNOa. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

THE WRONG MOSES AND THE RIGHT MOSES. 

R OY was astounded. This, then, was the secret 
of his hospitable reception in the family ; he 
had been mistaken for the nephew ! 

Embarrassed already by the presence of the police- 
man, whom he secretly dreaded as an emissary of 
Drollers, he was thrown into such confusion when in- 
troduced in this blundering manner, that any words 
b.e might have spoken died on his lips. He changed 
color, smiled mechanically, and looked at his plate in 
a way which must have caused the family to set him 
down as a very diffident young man. 

His first impulse had been to correct Mr. Paxley’s 
unaccountable mistake ; but there was the policeman. 
It would have been awkward to make such a correc- 
tion in the presence of a stranger, any way ; and might 
there not be an advantage just now in passing for 
another person? 

Conversation about the weather followed, and gave 
Roy time to recover himself. He remembered now a 
dozen circumstances which might have led him to 
suspect the good man of falling into some such error. 


THE WRONG MOSES. 


247 


Once or twice Paxley had called him Moses , and then 
again he had called him Luke, through inadvertance, 
of course, Roy thought. Then, there was his eager- 
ness to welcome him the moment he heard his 
nephew’s name, and without hearing Roy’s explana- 
tions — a very natural thing for a warm-hearted un- 
cle to do, who had been expecting his relative for 
several days. 

On the other hand, Roy remembered their plain 
talk about there being no relationship between them. 
It was this which had thrown him off his guard ; and 
it puzzled him now. 

“ After this Freelan is gone,” thought he, “ we’ll 
have an explanation.” And he anticipated a good 
laugh at the joke. The time for the laughing did 
not, however, come about quite as he expected. 

Mr. Freelan waited politely till dinner was over, 
then, rising, and laying his hand on Roy’s shoulder, 
said, with a smile, — 

“Mr. Paxley, beg your pardon, but I am obliged to 
take this young man into custody.” 

This quiet little proceeding filled uncle, aunt, and 
cousin of the supposed nephew with surprise and con- 
sternation. 

Roy alone appeared calm. He returned the officer’s 
smile, and said, cheerfully, — 

“ It must be that you take me for somebody else.” 

“Who else would I be likely to take you for ? ” re- 
plied the officer. 

“You are acting for Dr oilers ; and you probably 


248 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


take me for a young fellow he has been tracking foi 
the past ten days.” 

Guilty persons are very apt to make foolish speeches; 
and this was an exceptionally foolish one on the part 
of Roy. 

“ What is that young fellow’s name ? ” inquired 
the policeman. 

“I — believe — Roydon Rockwood.” 

“ And you are not Roydon Rockwood.” 

Roy smiled again, indicated Mr. Paxley with a po* 
lite gesture, and replied, — 

“ Ask Uncle Sam what he thinks about it.” 

“ All right ! ” said the officer. “ I’m not acting for 
Droller — what’s his name ? — and I don’t take you 
for anybody but yourself. If you are Mr. Paxley ’s 
nephew, — Moses Meredith, of Bayfield, — you are 
the chap I want. Your uncle here don’t know it; 
but, fact is, I’ve been expecting you as long as he has. 
I don’t know much about your difficulty ; — hope 
you’ll get out of it all right ; — but I’ve had instruc- 
tions, through a magistrate, from a selectman of your 
town, — Miles Hocum, perhaps you know him, — to 
catch you when you come, and keep you till called 
for. Sorry to trouble you ; but that’s the way of it, 
Moses.” 

It is always easy, when too late, to see how hasty 
we may have been in our conclusions, and how un- 
wise in our words and acts. The false impression 
which had taken possession of Roy’s mind, that 
Freelan had been set upon his track by Drollers, and 


THE WRONG MOSES. 


249 


his eagerness to deny his own identity, had betrayed 
him into a dilemma. He must now consent to pass 
for Moses, and continue under arrest, or declare him- 
self a sort of impostor, in which case he would prob- 
ably remain under arrest all the same ; for how could 
he expect to he believed ? 

His wits whirled unpleasantly for a moment ; then, 
at the end of Freelan’s speech, he smiled again, 
though with a somewhat sickly effect, and replied, — 
“ You are very considerate ; but I am not Moses 
Meredith.” 

“ Not Mr. Paxley’s nephew? ” 

“ Not a bit of it,” said Roy, firmly. 

“ That’s too thin ! ” exclaimed the officer. “ When 
you think I take you for somebody else, you are 
Moses ; when I take you for Moses, you are somebody 
else. Mr. Paxley, is this your nephew or not ? ” 

“ Not exactly my nephew,” stammered the aston- 
ished Paxley. “ His father’s first wife was my sister, 
and his brother Luke’s mother. But he’s a son of a 
second wife ; so, strictly speaking — ” 

“ But he is Moses Meredith ? ” interrupted the of- 
ficer. 

“No doubt — at least, I suppose — I haven’t seen 
him since he was a child ; our families don’t visit 
each other late years, only Luke was here two years 
ago — ” 

“ But this young man came here, and passed him- 
self off as your nephew — that is, as Moses ? ” 

“ Mr. Paxley,” cried Roy, “ you will remember I 


250 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


was beginning to explain that your nephew, Moses 
Meredith, was a friend of mine, when you broke in, 
grasped my hand, and gave me a welcome that took 
me by surprise. I called you Mr. Meredith ; and, 
when you asked me to call you Uncle Sam, I said I 
was no relative of yours.” 

“Yes; I agreed to it, since you are only Luke’s 
half-brother, and not my own sister’s son.” 

“ I understand that now, Mr. Paxley ; but I didn’t 
understand it then. I never intended to pass for 
Moses, nor dreamed that I did, until you introduced 
me to this gentleman. Then, I was so confused I 
hardly knew what I said or did ; but I thought I 
would wait until he was gone before I made an ex- 
planation. When he arrested me, I thought it was, 
I’ll freely confess, on my own account ; so I thought 
I would continue to pass for Moses, if I could. This 
is just the truth about it. Mrs. Paxley will remem- 
ber that I didn’t call her aunt ; and I didn’t kiss 
Maria, as I should have been ready enough to do if I 
had been claiming a cousin’s rights. Besides,” added 
Roy, “ in my sachel, hanging on the hook there, you 
will find my own initials on my linen — ‘ R. R.’ and 
not ‘M. M.’” 

The family, though greatly astonished by this ex- 
planation, seemed inclined to believe it. Freelan, 
however, was skeptical. 

“ Initials on linen,” he said, “don’t amount to any 
thing. And you are wanted by justice, I see, accord- 
ing to your own showing, even if you ain’t Moses. 


THE WRONG MOSES. 


251 


When an officer from your town comes for you, — and 
I shall telegraph for one immediately, — he will know 
whether you are the right bird or not, and act accord- 
ingly.” 

It was small consolation to Roy to think that that 
officer would probably be Drollers, and that it would 
not help his case much to be recognized by him, not 
as the Moses Meredith who was wanted, but as the 
Roy Rockwood who was wanted still more. 

44 Take your bag if you like,” said Freelan. He 
helped Roy on with his overcoat, and then gave him 
his sachel. 44 Now shall we go ? ” 

Good-natured Mr. Paxley remonstrated, Roy ar- 
gued, Mrs. Paxley pleaded, and Maria shed tears ; 
but Freelan remained unmoved. 

44 Well, if I must, I must,” said Roy, making brief 
adieus. 44 But, if you would only give me a chance, 
I know I can bring proof.” 

Freelan opened the door with one hand, leading 
Roy by the other. Roy looked out, and uttered a 
sudden cry, — 

44 There’s proof now ! ” 

It was living proof, in the form of the true Moses 
Meredith, walking briskly up to his uncle’s door. 

The moment he had spoken, Roy reflected, that, in 
his haste to get out of the pitfall, he was on the point 
of dragging his friend in. He was not a fellow to 
do that, even where his own safety seemed to re- 
quire it. It occurred to him at once to address Moses 
by a false name, and give him a hint of his danger, 
thus sacrificing his own advantage for his friend. 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


252 

“Here, Tom,” he said, “you know me, and you 
know — 99 

But Moses, not quite so unselfish, interrupted him 
with a look of distrust and malice. 

“ I do know you ; and I know you are no more 
what you pretend to be than I am what you call me. 
Don’t Tom me, you cheat ! Where’s my uncle ? ” 

“ Is this Moses ? ” cried Sam Paxley, meeting his 
nephew, and taking him into the house. “ Ah, I see 
the look I didn’t see in his face.” 

“Yes, this is Moses,” said the nephew, triumph- 
antly. “I walked down with a man, — your hired 
man, — and he told me your nephew from Bayfield 
came this morning. I couldn’t believe any scamp 
was trying to play my part here, until he met me at 
the door, and called me Tom. I couldn’t stand that. 
He’s really been imposing upon you, has he ? ” 

“ Yes, Moses,” said Roy ; “ and I should have been 
glad to impose upon somebody a little longer, at 
least, till I could have given you time to get out of 
the way. This man wants Moses Meredith, — the 
real Moses, — and I think he is satisfied now that he 
caught the wrong one when he caught me.” 

“ Perfectly,” said Freelan. Then, addressing him- 
self to Moses : “ Since you are the true Moses Mere- 
dith, you have come just in the nick of time. Greet 
your aunt, kiss your cousin, then you must come with 
me. Too bad, I know ; but I am ordered to arrest 
you, which I do.” 

And the hand which had been laid upon Roy’s 


THE WRONG MOSES. 


255 


shoulder was now transferred to Moses, to the latter’s 
consternation and dismay. He turned appealing 
looks from Roy to his uncle, protesting his innocence, 
begged, and actually shed tears. 

“ It will go hard with us, Roy,” he exclaimed. “ I 
never thought they would touch me ; but Tommy 
Twombly and Iry Bradish have testified that you and 
I set the fire, while you know I had nothing to do 
with it. They think they are going to get off by lay- 
ing the blame all on to us. My father can’t protect 
me, and so I came away ; and now — ” 

But here the minister’s son became choked with 
rage and tears. 

Freelan, at the aunt’s request, consented to wait 
until Moses had eaten his dinner ; and Moses, not so 
much from appetite as from a desire to gain time, sat 
down dejectedly before a fresh plate placed by Maria 
on the uncleared table. 

“ Well, Moses, I’m as sorry as you are ; but I can’t 
help it,” said Roy. 44 Good-by. I’d offer you my 
hand,” he said to Mr. Paxley, 44 if I thought you 
would take it.” 

44 Take it ? Of course I will,” cried the farmer, and 
gave him a cordial shake. 

44 Thank you, Uncle Sam! And you?” He sud- 
denly offered his hand to mother and daughter, and 
both received it. They could not believe him a very 
great knave ; and Maria liked his looks so much better 
than she did her cousin’s, that she was glad to have 
him get off, even at her cousin’s expense. 


254 


BOUND m HONOB. 


“Perhaps you will know some time,” he added, 
“ that I am not a very great rogue and impostor, after 
all. I take it, Mr. Freelan, that you have no further 
claim on me.” 

“ Yes, he has, too ! ” cried Moses, wishing for com- 
pany in his misery. “ He is Roy Rockwood ; they’ve 
been trying to arrest him for a long time, and they’ll 
give a good deal more for him now than they will for 
me.” 

If the misfortunes of Moses had enlisted the sym- 
pathies of his friends before, he certainly lost them to 
some extent by this speech. Freelan alone replied to 
it, addressing his words to Roy. 

“ I’ve no doubt,” said he, “ but that you ought to 
be detained. Yet I’ve no authority for keeping you ; 
and I advise you to get out of the way before such 
authority is put into my hands.” 

Even Freelan rather liked Roy. 

“ Thank you,” said Roy ; “I shall take your ad- 
vice.” Then, to the farmer, “ I trust I shoveled snow 
enough to pay for my dinner.” - And, with final 
thanks and good-bys, he was off, while Moses sat 
lamenting. 

Roy did not let the spring violets blossom under 
his feet, but got as far as he could from the scene of 
his last adventure, and went to a supperless bed that 
night in a farmer’s haystack. 

Crawling out from his lair the next morning, he 
found that there had been another snow-storm. As 
he was making fresh tracks toward the street, he was 


THE WRONG MOSES. 255 

hailed by the farmer, who demanded to know what he 
wanted. 

“ A job shoveling snow,” replied Roy, remembering 
his experiences of the forenoon before. 

“ I don’t want to hire nobody to shovel snow,” ex- 
claimed the farmer ; but added, as he saw Roy walk- 
ing off, “ What pay do you want ? ” 

“ My breakfast,” Roy answered ; thereupon he was 
called back, and set to work. 

Having earned his breakfast, it occurred to him 
that he might earn some thing more in the same way ; 
and, entering a village, he got three or four jobs at 
shoveling out the snowed-up inhabitants, by which he 
earned enough to pay for a dinner. 

But, instead of dining as he might have done, Roy 
rapidly learning prudence, contented himself with a 
few crackers and a bit of cheese bought at a grocer’s, 
and saved his money for another scheme, which he 
had been comtemplating all the morning. This was 
something which had been suggested to him by his 
adventure with the clock in the farm-house where he 
got his first dinner after leaving home. How long it 
seemed since then ! 

Entering a jeweler’s shop, he represented himself 
as a young man out of business, who knew something 
about clocks, and who proposed to provide himself 
with a few simple tools, and make a little tour of the 
surrounding villages as an itinerant clock- tinker. 

After a conversation with the shop-keeper, whom 
he interested in his scheme, it was decided that he 


256 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


must have a pair of plain-nosed pliers, a pair cf cut- 
ting-pliers, a flat file, a small bottle of alcohol, a vial 
of watchmaker’s oil, a piece of chamois-skin, a small 
screw-driver, a knife, a brush, and some peg-wood. 

Roy was in despair at finding that so many things 
were necessary, and remarked that he had cleaned 
clocks with nothing but a pen-knife, a rag, a feather, 
and a screw-driver. 

“No doubt,” replied the shop-keeper ; “ but, if you 
are going to do much of a business, you’ll find all 
these things useful.” 

Roy had hoped to buy some old tools of him ; but 
finally concluded to borrow what he wanted, the man 
agreeing to lend them, provided he would leave his 
watch as security for their return, go out of town be- 
fore commencing business, and give him ten per cent 
of what he earned above his expenses. 

To this, Roy agreed, and packing the borrowed 
tools into his sachel, set off hopefully on his new ad- 
venture. 


A BARGAIN IN HORSE-FLESH. 


257 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

A BARGAIN IN HORSE-FLESH AND ITS PLEASANT SEQUEL. 

H E found no time-pieces to clean that day ; but, 
stopping at a farm-house over night, he had 
the good fortune to please his host, who remembered, 
the next morning, that the old clock “hadn’t been 
iled for an age,” and gave it into Roy’s hands. 

By this means Roy paid for his supper, breakfast, 
and lodging, and felt much encouraged. Using the 
name of his host, who was known as a careful and 
influential man, he got two other clocks to clean in 
the same neighborhood, and found himself at night 
with a little well-earned money in his pocket. Then, 
for the two following days, he did not earn enough to 
pay his expenses. On the third day, however, he was 
in luck again ; and so his fortunes varied. 

All this time, his singular adventure at Uncle Sam 
Paxley’s, and especially Moke’s part in it, kept con- 
stantly recurring to his mind ; and, the more he 
thought of it, the more it troubled him. 

“ Served him right! ” had been the first sharp sen- 
tence of his resentment, which Moke’s base conduct 
had roused. But a nobler feeling now came upper-* 


258 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


most ; and the thought of Moke in misfortune, left to 
bear the brunt of a false accusation, filled him with a 
kind of remorse. 

Before, a sense of honor, however mistaken, had 
prevented him from testifying against his associates 
who set the fire. But, since the chief culprits, to clear 
themselves, had borne false witness against him and 
Moses, was it not clearly his duty to appear, and, 
at whatever risk to himself, openly acknowledge the 
truth ? 

He found it impossible to make up his mind what 
course he ought to pursue. But, having visited again 
the jeweler of whom he obtained his outfit, redeemed 
his watch, which he found indispensable in his busi- 
ness, and provided himself with a “ metal polish,” to 
use or sell, he obeyed an irresistible impulse, and 
turned his face toward Bayfield, in the vicinity of 
which he hoped to hear some definite news that 
might determine his future conduct. 

From house to house, from village to village, he 
made his way slowly, selling his polish, finding now 
and then a clock to oil or repair, and meeting now and 
then with an adventure. 

One day he made acquaintance with a young farmer, 
who had a clock that wouldn’t go, and a tongue that 
went altogether too well. While Roy was oiling the 
clock, the said tongue, which had no need of oil, 
was running incessantly. 

The owner asked Roy all sorts 0 j questions, proposed 
*o swap knives, boots, and hats with him, and finally 
offered to sell him a horse. 


A BARGAIN IN HORSE-FLESH. 259 

“ Come, now, Hinckley ! ” said the young man’s 
mother, who was able occasionally to put in a word 
edgeways, “ don’t ye trade off that hoss — -you’ve no 
right.” 

“ I guess I’ve a right,” said Hinckley ; “ and I’ll 
sell or swap any thing on the place, from a tip-cart 
to a gridiron. Jest the hoss you want, friend. 
Leave your tinkering till after dinner, and come and 
look at him.” 

Roy laughingly said that he had already had enough 
of horses that winter ; but, being tired of the close 
air of the room, and the young man insisting, he put 
on his coat, and went out with him to the barn. 

“ There ! ” said Hinckley, throwing open a door 
which looked out on a yard and open shed, “ that’s 
the animal at the rack — thin in flesh, but sound and 
true — nary ringbone nor spavin, nor tech o’ the 
heaves, nor nothin’ o’ the sort.” 

Roy stood amazed ; the steed he was asked to pur- 
chase was his old acquaintance, Billy! 

“ Come ! ” said the young man, “ think about it. 
Ain’t you tired of bein’ on the tramp? It’ll be 
enough sight easier for ye to ride. I can sell ye a 
saddle tew, or a harness and wagon, for that matter ; 
then you can take a few clocks about with ye, and 
dicker a little. Now that’s an idee for ye to consider ; 
there’s a fortin in it, I bet ye ! A few clocks, and a 
passel o’ hymn-books, side-combs, babies’ rattles, 
cheap jewelry, tape, any triflin’ nick-nacks — jest a 
purty business, ye know.” 


260 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


The speaker watched Roy’s face and the curiously 
restrained smile he saw there, and shrewdly inferred 
that this fine bait tickled the shy fish. 

“Isn’t the horse rath — er — old, — eh?” Roy 
asked. 

“ Nine year old this cornin’ spring. Raised in 
the neighborhood. I’ve knowed him from a colt. 
Mother a famous trotter — Mari’ Ant’inette — you’ve 
heard of her? He could trot once tew. I’ve seen 
him dew his mile in tew-forty, with jest the tail-end 
of a second to spare ; and he can dew it agin, after he’s 
been fed up to it.” 

“ How happens it that so valuable a horse ever got 
run down so ? ” Roy inquired. 

Hinckley looked candid as the open sky, scratched 
his ear, puckered a corner of his mouth, and re- 
sponded : — 

“ Ye see, sir, he fell into the hands of a mis’ble 
shoat ’at didn’t know a thing about hosses ; run thro’ 
his property, an’ got too poor to feed Napoleon — 
that’s his name. Stand round, Napoleon ! ” 

Hinckley accompanied his words with a slap. Na- 
poleon gave a groan — a dreadfully familiar sound to 
Roy’s ear. 

“The feller wouldn’t part with him — proud ^s 
Lucifer — till bimeby the sheriff sold him out. Know- 
ing the properties of the boss, I rushed in, and bid him 
off at a bargain.” 

“ Well,” said Roy, “what is such a horse worth?” 

“ N apoleon is wuth — sich a hoss as that is wuth,” 


A BARGAIN IN HORSE-FLESH. 


261 


— Hinckley looked at Roy, and then at the beast, — “ he’s 
richly wuth over a hundred dollars. But I’ll sell him 
for less ’n half — yes, a good deal less. I’ll take fifty, 
seein’ it’s you, jest for thesake of startin’ye in business.” 

“ I think if I should offer you half of fifty, you 
would take it.” 

“ No, sir-ree ! If the Pope of Rome should come 
along in his best clo’es, and offer a quarter of a hun- 
dred for that hoss, I’d say, ‘ Holy Father, no ! ’ 
Thirty-five dollars is the lowest price I’d look at — * 
and I’d look at that twice, and be purty hard-up for 
ready money, ’fore I’d make the sacrifiss. Friend, you 
smile.” 

“I’m pleased,” said Roy, “that I’ve learned the 
value and pedigree of that horse, and got a sounding 
name for him. Now, I’ll sell him to you, if you 
like.” 

Hinckley stared. “ Hey ? What ye tryin’ to come 
at?” 

“ I mean, Napoleon belongs to me. Billy, I used to 
call him. I tried all one day to sell him ; and might 
have disposed of him a dozen times, if I’d had your 
tongue to recommend him.” 

Hinckley looked at Roy out of the left-hand corner 
of his eye, drew his mouth to a pucker in the same 
direction, and said, — - 

“Look here, now, friend ; honest?” 

“ Honest ? yes ! — a good deal honester than any 
thing you’ve said to me. Either you picked up that 
horse in the road, or he was left with you for safe 


262 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


keeping. He had on a bridle, with rope reins, an’ old 
blanket bound to his back by a rope girt, and — I 
rather think — a cord tying a loop of the reins to the 
girt at his side. Am I right ? ” said Roy. 

Hinckley scratched his nose, shut one eye, pinched 
his ear, and blossomed into a smile. 

“ Right, in the minutest particular. Only I found 
the hoss jammed head and shoulders into my wood- 
shed, one mornin’ after a big storm, and never 
knowed how he come there. That’s what ma meant 
by sayin’ I’d no right to trade him off. Now, tell me 
how you lost him.” 

“ I left him in the hands of an acquaintance. I 
had pressing business, which obliged me to take a 
train. He had at the same time a horse and cutter. 
His own horse somehow got away ; and, in going for 
him, he lost sight of this horse ; — it was in the night, 
and a terrible snow-storm, you understand.” 

Roy was a little surprised that Hinckley understood 
so well. 

“ Wal, it’s curi’s ! I’ve told ma a hundred times 
I’d give a little to know how I come by that hoss ! ” 

“ Now you know. And I suppose you’ll give 
more than a little for a clear title to him. You offered 
him to me for thirty-five dollars ; I’ll offer him to you 
for thirty. That’s fair, now.” 

“ A critter like that ! thirty dollars ! Friend, you’re 
jokin’,” said Hinckley, looking at Billy again, in the 
new light thrown upon his history. 

“ Nary touch of the heaves,” Roy went on, “ nor 


A BARGAIN IN HORSE-FLESH. 263 

ringbone nor spavin ; only nine years old ; mother, 
famous trotting mare, Mari’ Ant’inette ; done his mile 
in two-forty, with the tail end of a second — ” 

“ She i ” laughed Hinckley, not at all disconcerted. 
“ A feller talks sometimes for the sake of talkin.” 
Cornin' right down to hard-pan, now, and talkin’ 
honest, I wouldn’t give you over ten dollars for that 
hoss, now, — not if know myself ; and ma’ll tell ye ’t 
purty gen’ly I dew ! ” 

Roy masked his satisfaction under a horse-jockey’s 
laugh, and exclaimed : — 

“ Only ten dollars ! If the Pope of Rome should 
come along in his best clo’s, and offer me — ” 

“ Wal, never mind about the Pope of Rome,’’ 
grinned Hinckley. “ We’re talkin’ business now. 
And you must consider that it’s the feed I’ve put into 
him now that’s brought him up. When I first laid 
eyes on him, he wa’n’t the same hoss.” 

Roy confessed that Billy looked a great deal better 
than when he last saw him ; in grateful consideration 
of which fact, he offered to give Hinckley a bill of 
sale of him for twenty dollars. 

rL No, by Jimmy Neddy I ” said Hinckley. “ But 
111 tell ye now what’s my idee of a trade. I’ll give 
ye ’leven dollars and your dinner, and you shall throw 
in the work on the old clock, and a box of that ’ere 
polish ; or you shall give me five dollars for keep, and 
take the hoss away.” 

This latter alternative suggested to Roy such ter- 
rible things, that he hastened to close the bargain. 


264 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ By Jimmy Neddy, ma ! ” said Hinckley, rubbing 
his hands, the moment Roy was well out of the house, 
“ it’s the biggest thing ! All I wanted was a clear 
title. I can jockey up that hoss, put a little arsenic 
in a rag on his bit, get him in good feather for 
swappin’, and put him away at a figger that’ll make 
your eyes snap ! ” 

Roy would have passed for an exceedingly merry 
young clock-tinker, as he pursued his journey, laughing 
spasmodically to himself, for a mile or two, and break- 
ing out into grins and giggles, for no visible provo 
cation, and upon the most serious occasions, at any 
time during the next twenty-four hours. 

“ A part of this horse money,” he reasoned with 
himself, “belongs to Lizard.” And, as his route lay 
near the brickyards, he resolved to give Lizard a call. 
This he did ; and, finding the little Canadian at home, 
he received from him a surprising salutation. 

“ How you do, Roy ? I sole dat ’oss.” 

“ What horse ? ” 

“ Dat ’oss, you know — Billy. I got five dollars.” 

“ You, Lizard, have — sold — Billy — for — five — 
dollars ! ” 

“ Da’s jes wot I say. I got de money for you now.” 
And Lizard took out a greasy pocket-book. 

The actual sight of a dirty five-dollar bill, which the 
little man fished up with his creased and blackened 
fingers, made Roy wink hard, rub his eyebrows, and 
exclaim, — 

“ Lizard, this is funny! Tell me about it.” 


A BARGAIN IN HORSE-FLESH. 265 

“Yon see, Drollers he come back dis way; he tell 
about how he ketch you, and you give him a slip, an’ 
he lef’ Billy in a snow-storm, to run for you, an’ wen 
he come long back, he fin’ no ’oss ; I say, 4 You ’spon- 
sible for dat ’oss, Mist’ Drollers ; he was ver’ good 
’oss. So he say to me, 4 You go fin’ him, I will pay 
for your trouble.’ But I say, 4 1 got big job now cut- 
tin’ ice, I can’t go ; it may take tree, fo’ days huntin’ 
for Billy, an’ I not fin’ him aft’ all ; or may be I fin’ 
him dead.’ Fin’ly, he say he give me five dollars for 
dat ’oss, settle it, and I do wot I please. It is bes’ I 
can do ; an’ ’ere is you money you len’ me.” 

“ Drollers’s money ! Drollers bought Billy!” ex- 
claimed Roy, snapping his finger in the air in a sort 
of ecstacy. 44 Keep the filthy lucre, Lizard ; and may 
a kind Providence bless it to you.” 

“ Wot for you laugh so ! ” said the little Canadian, 
wondering. “Billy was good ’oss. I go fin’ him 
wen grass grows, an’ may be make good t’ing out dat 
’oss yet.” 

44 Don’t you go,” said Roy ; 44 for I’ve sold him — 
I’ve sold Billy myself.” 

He related the circumstances, to which Lizard list- 
ened with grave interest, remarking at the close, with 
a gleam of triumph in his swarthy face and beady 
black eyes : — 

“Now wot you say, Roy? Didn’ I allis tell ye 
Billy was ver’ mighty good ’oss ? ” 

As Roy was going away, young Lizard screamed 
after him from the half-opened door : — 


266 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Say, Roy Rockwood, my father didn't lick me for 
not going with you to sell Billy. I told you my 
mother wouldn’t let him.” 

“ Well, I forgive you. I did a great deal better 
without you,” laughed Roy ; while the elder Lizard, 
to keep up his credit as a man and a parent in the 
eyes of his friend, made a dash at the younger, and 
disappeared with him into the house. 

Roy heard a boyish scream, then a shrill, loud 
woman’s voice, then the noise of a tussle ; and out 
came the little Canadian again, with a bound and a 
war-whoop, and a flying three-legged stool. 

Roy looked back once, and perceived the defeated 
parent stooping to pick up his hat with one hand, 
while rubbing the back of his head with the other. 
Concluding, from this circumstance that young Lizard 
had not made a vain boast, but had spoken advisedly 
of his mother’s prowess and protection, he turned 
quickly, to hide his emotion (there were tears in his 
eyes), and saw his amiable little Canadian friend no 
more. 


A CALL ON THE WIDOW GRAVES. 


267 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A CALL ON THE WIDOW GRAVES. 

R OY hastened along the road, which he had trav- 
ersed once before in the early morning star- 
light, when he left his lodging in the widow’s barn 
and went to inquire for a man of the name of “ Liz- 
ard ” at the brickyards. 

He did not stop to practice his new profession by 
the way, having resolved to hurry on and risk a final 
• vtempt to get his money of the ice-company. 

The ice harvest was pretty well over. But Las- 
sarde had told him that there were still a few hands 
employed about the houses ; and, it being Saturday 
afternoon, he determined to rush in at the moment 
when they were paid off, and demand his dues with 
the rest. 

Passing the widow’s place, he could not resist a de- 
sire to speak with his friend Timothy. All being 
still about the barn, he ventured to call at the house. 
The widow herself came to the door, with knitting- 
work in her hands and spectacles on her forehead. 
Roy rattled off his customary lingo. 

“ Have you a clock, madam, to clean, oil, or repair? 


268 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


or can I sell you to-day, madam, a very useful article 
of metal polish ? indispensable to every housekeeper ; 
the best, and, indeed, the only really good thing in 
the market, for giving a quick and brilliant polish to 
silver ware, plated ware, britannia, pewter, brass, tea- 
pots, door-knobs, spoons, knives, and forks, burnished 
metal of all kinds ; removing the tarnish and restor- 
ing the original surface, with the slightest outlay of 
labor or expense ; only thirty cents a box, madam ; 
will you do me the favor to look at it ? Give me a 
tea-pot cover or a spoon, and 1 will show you in a few 
seconds what it will do.” 

The widow was willing to be shown. She admitted 
him into the kitchen, gave him an old silver spoon, 
and stood watching to see him polish it, perhaps also 
to see that he did not pocket it. He was wondering 
how he should manage to ask about Timothy, when 
she opened the way to him by a question. 

“ Was ye ever this way before ? ” 

“ Yes, madam,” replied Roy (rub, rub). “ I was 
here once ; though I don’t remember that you looked 
at my polish. I think you did not ” (rub, rub, rub). 
“ But I recollect perfectly well a boy, — a red-haired 
boy — good-natured countenance. I don’t see him 
about to-day.” 

“ No ; and good reason ! ” exclaimed the widow. 

Roy stopped rubbing, and regarded her with mild 
astonishment. 

“ Madam, you surprise me. He seemed a very 
good sort of boy. There was some reason why you 


A CALL ON THE WIDOW GRAVES. 269 

didn’t look at my polish; but he treated me very 
civilly.” 

“ I dare say,” said the widow, in an agitated voice. 
“ That was the trouble with Timothy. He was too 
good-natured where he ought to have been sarcum- 
spect. Will you believe it ? he made friends with a 
rogue, and kept him hid in my barn two days — over 
Sunday too. Just think on’t ! ” 

“ You don’t tell me ! ” said Roy (rub, rub). 

“ Yes : and a very desprit villian he was — a barn- 
burner, who might have burned all my buildings over 
our heads if he’d been so minded.” 

“ You perfectly amaze me, madam ! ” 

“ Yes, indeed! And that Timothy smuggled him 
in, and had him hid there in a hole in the hay — I’ve 
seen the hole — one Saturday night, at the very time 
when the officers was here a-huntin’ high and low for 
him.” 

“Dear, dear,” said Roy. “ And that boy appeared 
such an innocent ! ” 

“ Indeed he did ; and I’d allers trusted him till 
then, and might ’a’ gone on a-trustin’ on him, to my 
ruin, if’t hadn’t been for the doughnuts.” 

“ The doughnuts, madam ? ” 

“ Why, to be sure, the doughnuts did disappear so 
dreadful fast, particularly that Sunday ; it was unac- 
countable ! For Timothy, he never was a master 
hand for doughnuts himself ; and he wa’n’t much in 
the habit of eatin’ atween meals. I’d most broke him 
o’ that, since he’d been with me. It’s apt to bring on 


270 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


dyspepsy ; though my doughnuts wa’n’t never over’n 
above short, but was as good, hulsome doughnuts — 
if I do say it — as ye ever eat in your life.” 

“ No doubt of it, madam,” said Roy. 

“Wal, as I was say in’, them doughtnuts did go like 
all possessed. I went to the biler where I keep ’em 
(I gin’lry keep every thing o’ that kind in a biler, 
shet up tight ; for I do think it makes poor stuff of 
any sort of cake or bread to let it dry up. If I cut 
off a slice o’ bread that ain’t eat, I lays it right back 
onto the loaf, and then winds a towel right clust 
around ’em both, and puts ’em in a tight biler ; an’ 
there they keep, jest about as well as if the loaf hadn’t 
been cut at all). But, as I was sayin’, when I went 
to take the things out Monday mornin’ (it was wash- 
in’-day, ye know, and I wanted the biler. I never 
neglect to wash on Monday, if it’s any decent sort of 
weather, and if I can manage any way in the world to 
git the work done).” 

“A very common practice, I believe,” observed 
Roy. “ I’ve known many people to wash on Mon- 
day.” 

“ Not that I do the washin’ myself,” continued the 
Widow Graves. “ I’ve a woman to come in, and help 
— Mis’ Munson, a grass-widow. And my neice, ’Tildy 
Graves, — she’s lived with me about all her life, for 
that matter, — her father was my brother. He was a 
carpenter, and a good Christian man, as appeared 
when he fell from a scaffoldin’ ; and his last words 
was, when they picked him up, 1 1 die prepared.’ ” 


A CALL ON THE WIDOW GRAVES. 271 

The widow stopped to take breath and wipe her 
eyes, while Roy gave the spoon an absent-minded 
rub, and said, “ How affecting ! ” 

“ So, as I was sayin’, — where was I ? ” 

“ At the biler, madam ; you’d got to the biler and 
the abstracted doughnuts, that Monday morning.” 

“ Oh, I remember ! — an’, when I see what depre- 
dations had been made — a big panful of doughnuts, 
kivered up with a cloth, an’ not more’n your two 
han’fuls left, when I took the cloth off, an’ looked.” 

“ Is it possible ! ” ejaculated Roy. 

“ Yes, indeed ! ’Tildy, she didn’t know nothin’ 
about ’em ; an’ so I called Timothy in, an’ cornered 
him. I’ll say this for him, that he never could look 
me square in the face, an’ tell me an out-an’-out lie. 
An’ so it all come out about that rogue he’d been 
harborin’ in the barn, an’ feedin’ on my doughnuts 
for nigh on to two days.” 

“ Incredible ! ” said the horrified listener. 

“ I was sorry to do it,” the widow proceeded. 
“ But I lost confidence in Timothy from that hour ; I 
didn’t know what desprit character he might bring in, 
an’ conceal on the premises next, to rob an’ murder 
us in our sleep, or burn us alive in our beds. So I 
had to send him away, though I was sorry enough ; 
for, in other respects, he is a good, faithful boy, 
an’ one of a large family ; an’ his father bein’ a dissi- 
pated man, they find it hard enough to git along.” 

“ But,” remonstrated Roy, with genuine feeling 
this time, “ was Timothy aware of^of the dangerous 
character of — this rogue you speak of ? ” 


272 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Mebby not, at first ; but then he knowed as well 
as I did, that the officers of justice was after him that 
night, for he went an’ hild the lantern for ’em while 
they sarched. What could you think of a boy that 
would keep on a-harborin’ of him, an’ a-supplyin’ of 
him with doughnuts an’ new milk — he owned up to 
the new milk too ! — after that ? ” 

“ And where is Timothy now ? ” 

“ He’s to hum to his father’s, waitin’ to hear of an- 
other place ; but I’m afraid he won’t hear of one very 
soon ; for the story has got round, an’ who do you 
think would want to trust him now ? ” 

“ Too true ! ” said Roy. “ But I — it seems to me 
— there must have been some reason for — for his 
strange conduct.” 

“ Oh, yes, there’s allers reasons for things,” ex- 
plained the widow. “It appears this rogue (he 
passed under the name of Walker, though they say 
that wa’n’t his real name ; and it’s allers a suspicious 
sarcumstance, you know, when a body goes about 
under false names).” 

“ Always,” assented Roy. 

“ Wal, as I was sayin’, he had got in with Timothy 
somehow, an’ bribed him with a pair of skates.” 

“ Is it possible ! And what could have been this — 
Walker’s — motive in bribing him ? ” 

“ Oh, some develtry ! He wanted a chance to rob 
us, I suppose, but found afterwards we’d nothin’ he 
cared much for, ’thout ’twas doughnuts. An’ the 
milk fell short too. I should think, two full quarts.” 


A CALL ON THE WIDOW GKAVES. 273 

“ Monstrous ! ” said Roy. “ Two quarts of milk and 
a pan of doughnuts ! ” 

“ Not that I cared so much for the milk and dough- 
nuts,” the widow proceeded ; “ but the principle of 
the thing ! ” 

“ True, — the principle of the thing, madam ! But 
I can’t think Timothy meant any harm ; and, since he 
is so good a boy in other respects, don’t you think it 
would be safe to take him back, and try him once 
more? I should be sorry to have him lose his place, 
and get a bad name just on account of — this Walker 
— I believe you called him Walker.” 

He said much more to the same purpose ; but the 
widow, terrified at the thought of burglars and barn- 
burners hiding in her hay, could not be persuaded to 
give Timothy another trial. Roy forgot to urge the 
sale of his polish, and rose to go. 

“ Oh ! ” said she ; “ that stuff! It re’ly works to a 
charm ; I’ve been watchin’, though I hain’t seemed 
to ; an’ I should re’ly like a box, if I could only afford 
it.” 

“Madam,” said Roy, promptly, thinking perhaps 
of the two quarts of milk and the pan of doughnuts, 
“allow me to present you with a box.” 

“What!” The widow, who had meant only to 
beat him down in his price, simpered, and held the 
box doubtfully in her hand. “ Why, I didn’t suppose 
you carried your polish about to give it away ! ” 

“I don’t, as a general thing, madam. But I’ve 
been very much interested in your conversation.” 

18 


274 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


She accepted it accordingly, and said, to her niece, 
who came in after Roy had gone : — 

“ Did you meet him ? I wish you had come in 
sooner ; for he’s certainly one of the most agreeable, 
pleasantest, perlite, interestin’ young men you ever 
see!” 

“ What would she think,” said Roy to himself, “ ir 
she knew she had been entertaining a barn-burner in 
her house ! ” 

He was much inclined to laugh at the adventure ; 
but his mirth was sadly damped by the recollection of 
Timothy’s misfortune. 

“ That is the worst of getting into a scrape,” he ex- 
claimed, with self-reproach. “ If a fellow injured only 
himself when he does wrong, it wouldn’t be so bad ; 
but all his friends have to suffer, one way and another, 
on his account.” 


WHY ROY WAS WANTED. 


275 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

WHY ROY WAS WANTED BY THE JUDGE. 

T HIS set Roy to thinking, more remorsefully than he 
had done before, — though he had reflected se- 
riously many times on the subject, — of the anxiety, 
shame, and distress, which his thoughtless conduct 
had brought upon Mabel and the good doctor and his 
wife. 

He looked at his watch ; it was time for him to be 
making his way to the ice-houses. 

Roy avoided the town, and, by a cross-walk, came 
upon a hillside that commanded a view of the ice- 
works and the reservoir. Seeing some men still at 
work about the houses, he got behind a huge stone- 
heap, in an open field, and waited. 

The scene looked strange to him from this position. 
It seemed months ago that he skated for a prize on 
that thronged and crystal-floored parade, now deso- 
late and covered with snow. He tried in vain to 
make out just the spot where he escaped from Drol- 
lers by a series of desperate leaps. Suddenly, a 
shriek, then a chorus of loud cries, drew his attention 
to the upper part of the pond. 


276 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


He had before noticed a number of boys there 
coasting down an orchard slope, and sliding off on the 
snow-covered ice. But now the coasters were aban- 
doning their sleds, and running in great confusion 
toward a broad sheet of ice, which had formed since 
the last snow fell. 

In a moment, Roy saw the cause of the alarm. Off in 
the middle of the field of new ice, appeared a spot of 
open water, and, in the midst of this spot, was some- 
thing which looked like a black ball. Watching it, 
he saw that it moved. It bobbed up and down, it 
turned, it approached the edge of the broken ice, then 
slipped back and down. Every few seconds, it sent 
up quick, terrified shrieks. It was a boy’s head. 

In fact, one of the coasters, through lack of pru- 
dence or skill, had let his sled take him off on the thin 
ice, where, the moment he stopped and attempted to 
get on his feet, he had broken through. 

It appeared that he could swim a little ; but, every 
time he tried to get up on the ice, either it broke un- 
der him, or he slipped back : the deadly cold of the 
water was striking to his bones ; and each shriek 
seemed fainter than the last. 

Roy had firmly fixed in his mind the notion that, to 
succeed in his plan and get safely off, he must under 
no circumstances show himself until the moment of 
putting it in execution. He waited, therefore, though 
with ever-increasing anxiety and impatience, to see 
the boy rescued by somebody else. Men were run- 
ning to the spot ; but why did they not bring planks, 


WHY ROY WAS WANTED. 277 

ropes, ice-hooks, instead of going empty-handed, like 
lunatics, as they seemed ? 

“ Oh, heaven ! ” he exclaimed, “ they don’t know 
any thing ! They’ll let the boy drown 1 ” 

Not a plank, not a rope, not a pole; but there the 
men gathered at the edge of the thin ice, gesticulat- 
ing and shouting, as helpless as the frightened boys 
themselves. 

Suddenly, forgetting all danger of appearing in a 
crowd where he was so well known, Roy darted from 
his post of observation, and took long leaps down the 
hillside. He looked eagerly on the way for something 
in the shape of a plank ; and saw, at the end of a stone 
wall dividing two fields, a short piece of fence built 
out into the pond, to keep cattle from passing around 
the shore when they went down into the water to 
drink. To three posts, a single, broad board was 
nailed, about sixteen feet long. To this Roy ran, and 
tried to get it off whole ; but, in his hurry, he broke it at 
the middle post ; and, instead of one long board, he 
had two short ones. He was vexed at this accident 
at first, but found afterward that it was the luckiest 
thing that could have happened. 

“Mr. Walker! Mr. Walker!” cried half a dozen 
voices. 

By this time, the drowning boy could but just gasp 
out a faint shriek of agony and fear ; and he seemed 
to be sinking. With his two boards in his hands, Roy 
started out on the firm shore ice, paused when he 
came to the tender new ice, threw down his boards, 


278 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


and slipped along upon one of them. A chorus of 
warning cries followed him. 

“ You can’t go there ! Mr. Walker ! you can’t go 
there ! ” 

Roy did not seem to himself to be at all excited, as 
he answered back, in a clear, loud voice : — 

“I’m going for that boy! Hold on, boy!” he 
added, cheerily, “ I’ll get you ! I’ll get you ! ” 

Resting his weight upon one board, he shoved the 
other forward, then stood upon that, while he brought 
the first along. Thus his two fragments served as a 
sort of enormous pair of detached snow-shoes, which 
kept him up on ice so thin that a very slight pressure 
of his foot directly upon it would have broken 
through. 

All the time he kept crying : “ Hold on, boy ! 

Three seconds ! I’m after ye ! Hold on ! ” 

“I can’t!” gasped the boy, beginning to swallow 
water and gurgle. 

“ Yes, you can ! One second ! I’ve got you ! I’ve 
got you ! ” 

And Roy, near the end of one of his boards, reached 
over and grasped the boy’s collar. But, suddenly, as 
he attempted to draw him out, board, ice, and all be- 
gan to sink, like the side of an overloaded raft ; and a 
cold wave rushed up over Roy’s outstretched arm and 
bended legs. A cry of dismay went up from the 
shore. Two boys in the water instead of one ! 

“ No ! Walker is out again ! Oh! ” 

Some of the spectators were far more wild with ex- 



THE RESCUE. — Page 279. 





















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WHY ROY WAS WANTED. 


279 


eitement than Roy was ; and there are those who will 
tell you to this day, that he went straight into the 
water, and came out like a miraculous man of cork, 
pulling' the boy after him. What really happened 
was this : — 

The moment he felt his board sinking, he sprang 
back, leaving the boy on the end of it, and was just 
in time to save himself on his reserved board. Arms, 
legs, coatskirts, were dripping ; and that gave him the 
appearance of having had a plunge. 

In an instant his overcoat was off, and a corner of 
the skirt flung to the boy. 

“ Catch hold there ! ” The boy caught hold. 
“ Cling fast ! ” 

“ Oh, I can’t.” 

“ You can — you must ! ” 

“ I’m sliding off!” 

“ No, you’re not ! You’re safe ! Out you come ! ” 

And, slowly, carefully, Roy pulled. The board with 
the sunken end, together with the ice bent down 
under it, formed a sort of inclined plane, up which 
the drowning boy was drawn, the soul in Roy’s voice 
inspiring him to make a last effort, in spite of his ex- 
haustion and the deadly ache and numbness the cold 
had struck into his frame. 

By this time, one thoughtful man came, bringing a 
long rope from the ice-houses. It would have been 
useless but for what Roy had already done ; for no- 
body durst go out on the new ice with it ; and it was 
not until a third attempt was made, that an end of it 


280 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


was cast within Roy’s reach. He seized, and held it 
fast, and was drawn on his piece of board, with the 
rescued boy, over the smooth, bending, cracking ice, 
to the firm edge. 

The crowd seemed intoxicated with excitement. 
Nobody knew what to do next. 

“ I never saw any thing like it ! ” — “I wouldn’t 
have done what he did for a million dollars ! ” — “ Ten 
seconds more, and that boy would have gone down ! ” 
Such were some of the cries Roy heard, as he reached 
the firm ice, and tried to lift the boy upon his feet. 

“ Take hold here, some of you ! ” he cried. “ No 
use of getting a boy out of the water, and then let- 
ting him die of cold ! Here, you ! ” singling out a stout 
fellow, who stood staring with the rest. “ And you ! 
One at each side. Don’t carry him. Make him run. 
To the nearest house ! Now — lively ! ” 

The poor boy, moaning with agony, said he couldn’t 
go — he couldn’t even stand. But Roy cheered, as- 
sisted, urged the men ; and, half carried, half running, 
the boy was taken up the slope to a house seen through 
the trees beyond. 

Roy, bearing his drenched overcoat, his feet churn' 
ing water in his boots, was the first to reach the door. 
He threw it open without ceremony, and shouted, 
“ Help, here ! help ! ” 

The two men thrust the boy into the kitchen, and 
were retreating, when Roy stopped them. 

“ Come back! You’ll let this boy die ! ” 

“ What shall we do ? ” one of them asked. 


WHY ROY WAS WANTED. 


281 


44 Strip him ! Have those wet clothes off quicker 
than you ever did any thing in your lives ! Where 
are the folks ? ” A frightened old lady came in. 
“ This boy has been in the water. He is dying of 
cold ! ” 

44 What boy is it ? ” 

44 1 don’t know. Blow up your fire ! Have towels 
ready — hot flannels — blankets to wrap him in. 
Have you any whisky ? That will be good for him — 
hot as he can take it.” 

44 Oh, dear ! ” cried the old lady. 44 You ask for so 
many things at once ! ” She uttered a sudden shriek. 
44 It’s Edgar ! Edgar ! My nephew ! How did he 
get into the water ? ” 

The men had now got Edgar’s clothes off ; and 
there they stood, holding him up, while he shook and 
moaned piteously. 

44 Rub him ! ” Roy exclaimed. 44 Briskly ! Towels 
first ; then with your bare hands. Don’t leave him 
till you get warm blankets outside of him, and hot 
whisky inside. I’m off.” And, having wrung his 
overcoat out at the sink, and held up his feet to 
empty the water from his boots, Roy walked out. 

He passed the crowd of men and boys lingering 
about the spot where the rescue had been made, — 
many of whom started to follow him and ask him 
questions, — took his sachel from the end of the wall 
where he had dropped it, and proceeded straight to 
the ice-houses. 


282 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Mr. Foreman,” he said, finding that officer back 
at his post (it was he who had carried the rope to 
tho rescue), “ I’ve come for my pay. Your company 
owes me for a week’s work, you remember — an hour 
or so short.” 

“Yes!” said the foreman. “You ought to be 
paid. But Mr. Westbury told me not to give you 
your money without consulting him.” 

“ Where is Mr. Westbury ? ” 

“ About town somewhere. He’ll be driving up here 
by-and-by — course of half an hour.” 

“Why must I wait for him?” Roy demanded. 
“ Why can’t I get my pay like another man ? ” 

“ There’s some hitch about it,” the foreman re* 
plied. “ ’Tain’t my fault.” 

“ I know whose fault it is ! ” And Roy turned 
to go. 

“ You’d better wait for Mr. Westbury, and be dry- 
ing your clothes,” the foreman replied. “ You’re 
very wet ; and, after such exercise as you took, you’d 
be sure to get cold.*” 

Can’t help it,” said Roy. “ I know their game. 
Instead of seeing Mr. Westbury, I shall see a police- 
man. Tell the honorable gentleman that he’s wel- 
come to the money.” 

These words called forth an outcry of indignation 
from a group of half a dozen stout laborers who had 
gathered near, and overheard the conversation. 

“ Oh, give the young man his money — he earned 
it.” 


WHY KOY WAS WANTED. 


283 


“ You’ve no right to keep back his pay — Westbury 
or no Westbury ! ” 

“ After what he has done this afternoon ! ” 

“ Saving the boy’s life, when not one of us dared, 
or could have done it if we dared !” 

“ Waiting here in his wet clothes ! ” 

“ I’d give it to him if I could,” said the foreman. 
“ I’m sure Mr. Westbury will when we tell him. Go 
into the boarding-house, Mr. Walker, and keep by the 
fire.” 

“ And wait till a policeman comes up and lays his 
hand on my shoulder ! No, thank ye ” 

“ No policeman shall touch ye ! ” said one of the 
men, with an oath. “ Shall he, boys? ” 

“ Not while he’s drying his clothes from fishing 
that drownding boy out of the water — no ! ” said an- 
other. 

“ I’ll get my own cocoanut cracked, an’ go to jail 
myself first ! ” said a third ; and the rest joined in. 

Anxious to receive his money, and feeling aguish 
from cooling off so suddenly after his heat, Roy hesi- 
tated, looked round on the faces of those sturdy, sym- 
pathetic men, and changed his mind. 

“ Fellows ! ” he cried, “ I take you at your word. 
I’ll wait.” 

Two went with him into the boarding-house, and 
helped him pull off his soaked boots by the kitchen 
stove. 

“Ah ! but your pants are wet above your knees,” 
said one ; “ and your arms above your elbows. We 
can give you some dry clo’es.” 


284 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“Bring ’em on,” laughed Roy. “I’m in for it! 
These clothes will dry sooner, if I can have a chance 
to wring ’em out.” 

He laughed again to see himself in coarse laborer’s 
clothes, a world too wide for his youthful limbs. But 
they were dry and comfortable, and he was thankful. 

He was sitting thus clad by the stove, while his 
own clothes, steaming over the backs of two chairs, 
kept him company, — the men having gone out, — 
when the door opened, and a whiskered man in a fur 
cap, with a heavy whip in his hand, walked in. At 
the sound of his boots and the sight of his strange 
face, Roy started. 

“Is this Mr. Walker?” said the man with the 
whip. 

“ I’m sometimes called by that name,” Roy an- 
swered, getting rather quickly on his feet, in an old 
pair of slippers which he could hardly keep on. 

“ Well ! ” said the man, bluntly, “ the judge wants 
you.” 

Roy stepped quickly back, to keep the stove be- 
tween them, losing off one slipper at the outset. 

“ The judge has been wanting me for some time, 
and I mean he shall want me for some time to 
come.” Then, calling to the cook, who was carrying 
dishes into the next room, “ Where are these men 
who promised to stand by me?” he grasped a 
chair, with the look of a man resolved to stand by 
himself. 

“ I don’t know what you mean by his waiting for 


WHY ROY WAS WANTED. 


285 


you for some time,” said the man. “ It’s only within 
ten minutes he told me to follow and find you, and 
bring you to his house. I’m here with the sleigh, just 
having taken up the doctor.” 

“ What judge are you talking about? ” cried Roy. 

“ Judge Dilworthy, of course. I’m his coachman.” 

“ And what does Judge Dilworthy want of me ? ” 

“ That I can’t say,” repeated the man; “but it 
seems quite natural that he should want you, since it 
was his son Edgar that you pulled out of the water.” 

“ Oh ! that — that’s quite a different matter,” stam- 
mered Roy. 

Getting his foot back into the lost slipper, and 
then leaning carelessly over the chair, as if he had 
not had the remotest intention of hurling it at the 
whiskered stranger, he smiled excitedly, and took 
time to consider the invitation. 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

A NEW FRIEND AND A CONFIDENTIAL TALK. 

S UCH an honor from such a source — the prospect 
of making so valuable a friend as the judge, and 
perhaps of renewing acquaintance with the judge's 
daughter, — all this would have been delightful, un- 
der different circumstances. But his own clothes 
were still wet ; and how could he think of appearing 
before the “ Queen of the Ice ” in that coat which 
covered him like a horse-blanket, and those trousers, 
which fitted him like bags ? Then, there was the em- 
barrassing possibility of his present interview with 
the Dilworthys being interrupted by the ruthless in- 
trusion of a constable. 

“ Thank Judge Dil worthy for me,” said he ; “ but 
tell him I am not in a condition to visit him just now. 
You see, I’ve no clothes to wear.” 

This was the decision to which he came ; and the 
coachman withdrew, with his whiskers and long whip. 
After he was gone, Roy’s disturbed and regretful 
thoughts were diverted by a new arrival. Timothy 
looked in. 


A NEW FRIEND. 287 

“ Ah, Red-top ! ” cried Roy, “ I’ve wanted to see 
you ! ” 

“ You did see me,” said Timothy ; “ but you didn’t 
seem to know me. I was there when you pulled Ed 
Dil worthy out of the hole in the ice.” 

“ I had something else to think of then. But, come 
here, Red-top ; tell me about yourself. You’ve lost 
your place, I hear.” 

“Yes; Mrs. Graves, she turned me off. I didn’t 
exactly suit her, I suppose.” 

“ Why don’t you be frank, and say it was all on my 
account? ” 

“ Because it wasn’t any thing you was to blame for, 
Mr. Walker ; and what^s the use ? ” 

“You’re a trump, Red-top! Did you give Miss 
Hogan the note I wrote to her that Monday in the 
barn ? ” 

“ Yes ; and she seemed terrible worked up about 
you ! told me to tell you to come and see her.” 

“ That I’ll do when I can. Meanwhile, I’ve an- 
other errand for you to do.” Roy took some money 
from a pocket of his wet clothes. “ Go to Miss Ho- 
gan now — can you ? ” 

“ I dunno’ but I can.” 

“Give her this money to pay the balance of my 
board-bill to the old lady, — there’s also a trifle, which 
I owe for washing, — and ask Miss Hogan to send me 
the clothes I left there.” 

In spite of all he had heard said against Mr. Walker, 
Timothy felt an enthusiastic faith in him, and was 


288 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


glad of another chance to do him a service. Away 
he ran, while Roy sat waiting beside his steaming 
clothes. 

The men were coming in to supper, when one of 
them said to Roy, — 

“ The sleigh’s at the door again ; it’s the judge him- 
self that’s asking for you this time.” 

Roy was on his feet it a moment. Then, he made a 
snatch at his boots, and sat down again. Knuckles 
and straps cracked as he tried to pull on first one, 
then the other, and stamped, and strained at the wet 
and shrunken leather. It didn’t seem to him that he 
could ever get those boots on again. 

While he was tugging at them, a tall figure in a 
high fur collar came and stood over him. 

“Never mind boots or clothes, Mr. Walker; but 
come with me, just as you are.” 

“ Judge Dilworthy ! ” exclaimed Roy, starting up, 
and poking his feet again into the slippers that would 
not stay on. 

“I’ve robes to wrap you in, and clothes enough that 
will fit you, when you get to my house.” 

“ But, sir, you don’t know — you don’t know all, or 
you wouldn’t ask me.” 

“ I know enough,” said the judge. “ Bring your 
clothes ; I’ll send back those you have on. It’s not 
five minutes’ ride to my house.” 

Something in the low tones and quiet manner of 
the man — something kind, persuasive, yet very de- 
cided — flattered Roy, and inspired him with confi- 


A NEW FBIEND. 


289 


dence. He forgot Timothy and his errand, Westbury 
and his money, even the dreaded policeman, and al- 
lowed himself to be hustled, with his sachel, boots, 
and wet clothes, into the judge’s sleigh, and buried 
in furs from head to foot. 

“ I’ve a notion,” he laughed, as they sped away, 
“ that I’m acting like a madman, going with you in 
this way.” 

“ Well, I am sane, and I take the responsibility,” 
replied the judge. 

“ But are you aware,” said Roy, “ that I am in dan- 
ger of being arrested at any moment ? ” 

“ I heard some such talk,” Judge Dil worthy an- 
swered, with a smile. “ But I’ve had enough to do 
with law and justice to show me that a man may be 
in your position without being necessarily a rogue.” 

“ I’m much obliged to you for saying that ! ” ex- 
claimed Roy, with a tremor of grateful emotion in his 
voice. 

“ As for the danger,” added the judge, “ I fancy 
you will incur no more by going to my house, than 
staying where you are. I believe the intention was 
to have you apprehended if you should come back to 
town ; but, after what has happened this afternoon, I 
think the police will be in no hurry to carry out the 
programme.” 

These words conveyed so much hope and comfort 
to Roy’s heart, that he could not keep the tears from 
rushing to his eyes. Then, for the first time, he 
thought to inquire about the life he had saved. 


290 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Edgar is still at his aunt’s ; he has been put to 
bed there, and the doctor is with him. It really looks 
as if you had saved his life twice. Even after you 
got him out of the water,” — the judge’s voice here 
lost its steadiness, and became husky as he went on, 
— “he might have perished, if you had not had him 
taken care of. You are the only person who seemed 
to have resolution to do any thing, and to know what 
to do ; the men. themselves say that. Had you any 
intimation who the boy was, when you went for 
him ? ” 

“ Not the least. I only knew there was a boy in 
the water, and that, if he was to be got out at all, it 
must be at once.” 

Roy thought it as well for the judge to know that 
he had not acted from any special regard to the Dil- 
worthy family. 

“ Had you no thought of the danger to yourself ? ” 

“ I knew there was some danger. Getting into the 
ice is a very different thing from diving in open water 
in summer weather ; the ice breaks when you try to 
get out, and the cold if awful, you know ! ” 

“ It was heroic ! ” exclaimed the judge. 

Roy was not displeased to hear that ; and yet he 
was honest enough to say : — 

“ I don’t know about that. What else could I 
do? It seemed to me the most natural thing in the 
world.” 

“ The most natural thing for you,” said the judge. 
“But not for the rest of them — not for those who 
stood by and looked on.” 


A NEW FRIEND. 


291 


Roy became thoughtful. It was just beginning to 
dawn upon him, that he had some of the stuff in him 
of which heroes are made. It had never occurred to 
him before ; and, as he reflected upon it, he said : — 

“ I suppose almost every man has it in him to do 
something of the kind in the course of his life ; but 
it takes different circumstances to call out different 
natures.” 

The judge was evidently struck with the modest 
good sense of this remark coming from the lips of a 
youth who might have been excused for some self- 
laudation. But he made no reply to it ; for now the 
sleigh, turning into the judge’s grounds, drew up at a 
side-door of the house. 

The judge himself helped Roy to alight, and took 
him to a large, comfortable chamber up one flight of 
stairs. 

“Make yourself quite at home here,” he said, pull- 
ing up the window-shutter. “ You will have the 
whole house to yourself for a little while ; for my wife 
and daughter are both with Edgar, and I am going 
back there as soon as I have seen you established.” 

Roy was relieved to know that he had escaped Miss 
Dilworthy’s eyes for the moment, and gratified at 
what immediately followed. 

The judge, having left the room, returned, bringing 
an armful of clothes. 

“ These belong to my son, Wilton, who is at col- 
lege. I think you will find something to fit you ; for 
ho is about your size.” And he threw trousers, coats, 


292 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


and vests on the bed. “ The next room here is my 
library; perhaps you will find something there to 
amuse you, if 1 am not back soon.’ , 

Roy watched from a window, and saw the sleigh 
drive off again with the judge. He then selected a 
handsome suit of gray clothes, in which he thought he 
would not object to being seen by Miss Dilworthy, and, 
while dressing, explored, with boyish curiosity, the 
adjoining room. 

The whole house was moderately warmed by a fur- 
nace , and, in the library-room, a cheery wood fire 
was burning. Everywhere, an air of good taste and 
coziness prevailed. The novelty of the adventure and 
the comfort of his situation, after so many hardships, 
inspired him with a sort of glee ; and he walked to 
and fro through the two rooms, enjoying their luxury 
and glow, admiring the prospect from the windows, 
and stopping now and then before a large mirror, 
which seemed to present to him a prospect equally 
pleasing. 

It was fast getting too dark to admire any thing but 
the subdued fire-light in the library, when a servant- 
girl entered, bringing a small lamp, which she placed 
on the bureau of the dressing-room, and afterward 
lighted a large one with an agreeable shade, which 
stood on the library table. 

At the laborers’ boarding-house, Roy had put on 
dry underclothing of his own, taken from his sachel ; 
but it now appeared to him that the linen was open 
to criticism — well enough for a traveling clock-tinker 


A NEW FRIEND. 


293 


and seller of metal-polish, but quite too yellow and 
wrinkled for a guest of the Dilworthy’s. He was try- 
ing to smooth it before the glass, and blaming himself 
for not having accepted one of Wilton’s shirts, which 
the judge had offered him, when the servant returned, 
saying there was a boy down stairs who wished to see 
Mr. Walker. 

It was young Tingley, with Roy’s bundle of clothes, 
from Mrs. Hogan’s boarding-house. 

“ Just the thing I want!” Roy exclaimed, taking 
out a shirt which had been neatly starched and ironed. 
“ What did Miss Hogan say ? ” — proceeding at once 
to change his linen in the next room, and talking to 
Timothy through the open door. 

“ She said I might tell you her and Obed had made 
up.” 

Roy laughed ; he didn’t know whether to be pleased 
with that bit of news or not. 

“ She didn’t know you had come up here,” Timo- 
thy went on. “ But she had heard of your saving 
Ed Dilworthy’s life ; that’s all over town.” 

The sound of bells drew Roy to the window; and 
he saw, in the deep twilight, the sleigh return with a 
load of people — three more persons at least than it 
had carried away. Two of these were ladies. 

“ Miss Dilworthy and her mother,” thought Roy. 

The third was a muffled figure supported between 
them, and wrapped to the ears. Roy made another 
shrewd guess, and exclaimed aloud, — 

“ Edgar ! they’ve brought him home I ” 


294 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


With little bustle and delay, the muffled form was 
borne into the house ; the doors were closed ; the 
sleigh passed on to the coach-house ; and the judge 
presently entered the library. 

He was too polite to appear surprised at seeing two 
persons when he had expected to find but one. Tim- 
othy backed bashfully into a corner ; but Roy, having 
now completed his toilet, met the emergency with 
that serene confidence which sometimes nothing but a 
consciousness of good clothes can inspire. 

“You see, Judge Dil worthy, I have made myself so 
much at home here, that I have been receiving com- 
pany in your absence. This is Timothy Tingley, 
the boy who loaned me the skates when I went in for 
the prizes.” 

“ Ah, yes ! I have heard Edgar tell about that.” 

“ He has come to bring me some clothes I had left 
at Mrs. Hogan’s boarding-house ; and he is going to 
take back the clothes I borrowed of the men at the 
ice-houses. I think my own suit must be dry by this 
time ; but, in the meanwhile, you see I have rigged 
myself out very satisfactorily in a suit of your son’s.” 

Roy laughingly struck an attitude, and stood like a 
young Apollo, in wavy brown locks, starched shirt, 
and genteel modern gray. 

When Timothy was gone, the judge sat down with 
his guest before the library fire, and said to him : — 

“ Now, business before every thing. I’ve brought 
you here to have a talk with you, at our leisure.” 

“Talk — with me?” said Roy, surprised. 


A NEW FRIEND. 


295 


44 Yes ; tell me what I can do for yon.” 

44 Well, to be quite frank,” — Roy laughed and hesi- 
tated — “if you had asked me that question a few 
hours ago, I should have said, 4 Give me a clock to 
clean, or buy a box of my metal-polish.’ That was all 
I asked of anybody — except Westbury and Company; 
I did ask them for a little money they owe me, and 
which I haven’t been able to collect.” 

4 4 How’s that? ” asked the judge ; and Roy related 
the circumstances. 

44 Rather small, I must say, for Westbury and Com- 
pany ; ” with which comment the judge scribbled some- 
thing on a sheet of paper. 44 But answer my ques- 
tion seriously now,” he continued, talking and writ- 
ing at the same time. 

44 What can you do for me? ” Roy repeated. 44 If 
you had not done for me already more than I had any 
reason to expect, I might ask a special favor.” 

44 Ask it,” said the judge, folding the paper and in- 
closing it in an envelope. He had touched a bell; as 
the door opened, Roy looked to see a servant appear. 
A “phantom of delight” appeared instead. It was 
his skating acquaintance, the charming 44 Queen of the 
Ice. ” 

“Ah, Lucy! that you?” said the judge, looking 
carelessly over his shoulder. 

“ Jane is busy helping mother ; I told her I would 
answer your bell,” Lucy replied, extending her hand 
for the envelope. 

44 Very well; give this to Jenkins; tell him to go 
with it at once.” 


296 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy had started to his feet; and there he stood, 
blushing and awkward (notwithstanding his con- 
sciousness of good clothes), not daring to presume 
upon their previous acquaintance, but waiting for 
either a recognition from Miss Dilworthy or an in- 
troduction from her father. He got neither. Lucy 
hardly glanced his way ; and the judge, accustomed 
to receiving, in the course of business, many persons 
whom he never thought of introducing to his family, 
did not see fit to make himself an electric conductor 
for this young spark. 

Lucy withdrew ; and Roy, all in a flush and tremor, 
sat down again. 

“ I’ll hear you,” said the judge, turning to him 
once more. “ Name the favor.” 

Roy was tempted to reply, “ Introduce me to your 
daughter next time you see me gasping and staring 
and making a fool of myself in that way ! ” but there 
was another matter too near his heart to permit him to 
make any such foolish speech. 

“ The boy you saw with me here — the Tingley boy 
— has got into trouble, and lost his place on my ac- 
count. Since you have invited me to be frank, I 
may add that his offence was — harboring me in Mrs. 
Graves’s barn when the officers were in search of me. 
She has somehow got the idea that I am a desperate 
character ; and she turned off Timothy because he did 
me an act of kindness without her knowledge. It 
was perhaps wrong for him to feed me on doughnuts 
from her pan, and new milk from her cows ; but I be- 


A NEW FRIEND. 


297 


lieve him to be a thoroughly honest, good hoy, for all 
that ; and I don’t like to think of his suffering for the 
friendship he showed me.” 

“Well?” said the judge, as if not seeing quite 
what Roy was driving at. 

“ Well,” Roy answered, “ his folks are poor, I 
hear ; he can’t afford to be out of a place ; and the 
favor I ask is this, that, if you have nothing for him 
to do, you will use your influence to recommend him 
to somebody who has.” 

“That all?” said the judge, with an amused 
smile. 

“ Why, yes ; and I’m afraid it is a matter I ought 
not to trouble you with. It seems a trifle to you; but 
it is no trifle to Timothy.” 

44 You ask nothing for yourself?” 

44 Nothing but this ; a kindness to Timothy will be 
the greatest favor to me.” 

44 And you don’t care to tell me about your own 
troubles ?” 

“ I’ll tell you all about them, if you wish, and be 
glad to,” replied Roy. 44 1 need advice, and yours 
will be very valuable to me.” 

“ Now we are coming to business,” said the judge. 
44 1 talked with the Bayfield constable when he was 
here, and heard his side of the story.” 

44 Which was not very complimentary to me, I dare 
say,” Roy answered, with a blush. 

44 Well, no. But we lawyers have a way of getting 
glimpses of the other side of a case, when a man 


298 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


thinks he is showing ns only one side. I am a prac- 
ticing lawyer, and at the same time a local magis- 
trate ; it was in the latter capacity that I was con- 
sulted by Drollers, who wished to make sure of your 
being apprehended, in case you should show yourself 
again about town after he was gone.” 

“ Ah ! ” breathed Roy, “then you may have issued 
— or may issue — a second warrant for my arrest ? ” 

“No; that won’t be necessary. On his representa- 
tion you may be detained by the police here until he 
comes for you. But I don’t think that will happen. 
I’ve not much fear of one of our constables coming to 
take you out of my house. But your Bayfield man may 
be telegraphed to — if anybody cares enough to do 
him a good turn, or you an ill turn, to take that 
trouble.” 

“ There is one person — I’ve an enemy in town. 
Obed Hocum — it would be just like Obed Hocum to 
play me that trick. But, before Drollers can get here, 
I shall be out of his way.” 

“Are you sure?” said the judge. “Let’s hear 
about Hocum ; we’ll see if he can’t be managed, too.” 

Roy told the ridiculous story of Obed’s jealousy 
and revenge ; adding, “ but I hear he has made up 
with Miss Hogan since.” 

“ That’s good news ; the edge of his revenge will 
be dulled a little, and I fancy he will hear to reason.” 

Roy now told his side of the story; he frankly 
explained how he got into his present difficulties, 
and made no attempt at evasion or excuse. The 


A NEW FRIEND. 


299 


judge listened with interest, and, at the close, tested 
the soundness of his statement by a few questions, 
such as an experienced lawyer knows so well how to 
frame. 

“ And what do you propose to do now? ” 

This was the last question, which Roy answered by 
announcing his half-formed resolution to return and 
testify to the facts, if necessary, in Moke Meredith’s 
behalf. 

“ Is that my best course?” he asked. 

“ It is a generous course,” the judge replied. “As 
for the safety of it, that is another thing ; we will see 
about that. Now let us go down to tea; we can 
finish our talk another time.” 


300 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER XL. 

SOME PLEASANT SURPRISES. 

R OY followed the judge with some doubt and em- 
barrassment, wondering whether he was to be 
subjected to the same awkwardness of situation as be- 
fore, at a second meeting with Miss Dilworthy. 

“ I won’t stand and stare this time,” he resolved 
within himself. “ If they treat me so again, I’ll ap- 
pear as if there was no such girl in existence.” 

He was fully prepared to act that indifferent part, 
when the judge, showing him into a tea-room, where 
there were in waiting a mild-mannered elderly lady, 
in short, gray curls, and a radiant young girl, in golden 
ringlets, said, introducing him, “ My wife and daugh- 
ter, Mr. Rockwood.” 

Mrs. Dilworthy advanced to meet him, with eagerly 
extended hand and earnest, tearful smile of welcome. 
Her voice was stifled with emotion, as she endeavored 
to speak and thank him for the service he had ren- 
dered the family ; and it was a relief to him to turn 
from this almost painful meeting to encounter the 
glistening bright eyes of the daughter. 

No cold formality now ! Nothing could exceed the 


SOME PLEASANT SURPRISES. 


301 


charming frankness and cordiality with which Lucy 
renewed their acquaintance. 

44 I believe we met once before, on skates,” she 
smilingly remarked, as if in perfect unconsciousness 
of having seen him, not an hour before, in the room 
above. 44 You made me proud then, Mr. Rockwood ; 
you have made me very grateful to-day ! ” — her eyes 
filling and her voice quivering, at the last words. 

Her feminine tact and readiness carried her through 
a scene to which Roy found himself hardly equal. 
Though usually quick-witted enough to return a joke 
or parry an ordinary compliment, he was struck dumb 
and almost moved to tears himself by these ardent 
expressions of gratitude from mother and daughter. 
Though it was sweet to know that he had saved a 
life precious to them, it was always more a pain than 
a pleasure to him — as it is to all generous natures — 
to be thanked for any important service. 

He managed to stammer, that she had made him 
very grateful for the good fortune, then quickly 
changed the conversation by saying, — 

“ I hope your brother is getting along comfortably ; 
he has been brought home, I believe.’’ 

“ Yes,” said Mrs. Dil worthy, seating their guest 
opposite Lucy. 4 4 When he heard that you were at 
our house, he became impatient to get home. He 
will be able to see you, I hope, after tea.” 

44 1 shall be very glad,” began Roy, winking a tear 
out of the corner of his eye. 44 But tell him, if you 
please, not to thank me ; I — I can’t stand that ! ” 
And he turned upon Lucy an appealing look. 


302 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


She gave him a beaming one, that broke into a 
smile. 

“ I’ll tell him,” she replied, “ that you are not to 
be thanked. Your saving his life was, as Mr. Toots 
would say, of no consequence.” 

Roy laughed and blushed. “ Oh, I don’t mean 
that ! But it was mere good luck, you know, that I 
was on the spot, and — and happened to know what 
to do.” 

“ A good many were on the spot, he says,” an- 
swered Lucy ; “ but nobody else happened ” (again 
the beaming look broke into a smile) “to do any 
thing to help him.” 

Roy now had to relate all the circumstances of the 
rescue, which he did with so much simplicity and 
humor, that the whole scene seemed to live again 
before the eyes of his deeply interested little audi- 
ence. 

“ It is too bad that Edgar should lose this,” said 
Mrs. Dilworthy. “ He will want to hear it all ; and 
I should like to hear every word of it over and over 
again ! ” 

After tea, Roy was shown into a small sitting-room, 
where Edgar was lying on the lounge, waiting anxi- 
ously to see him. The boy had received a hint from 
his sister, that Roy was to be spared the expression 
of his thanks ; he could not, however, help showing, 
by every look and tone of voice, when Roy came in 
and took his hand and spoke to him, how grateful he 
was to the one person out of the crowd who had risked 


SOME PLEASANT SURPRISES. 


303 


his own life to save him from a horrible and agonizing 
death. 

44 Well, how do you like cold bathing in midwin- 
ter ? ” was Roy’s cheery salutation. And he went 
on, scarcely heeding Edgar’s reply, that it wasn’t 
very nice, spoken with a bright and tender smile. 
“ Do you know, I can’t help thinking about that sled : 
When I shut my eyes, there it is, just afloat among 
the fragments of ice, with the ripple running over it, 
— a sort of salmon-colored sled, trimmed with blue 
stripes. Many a boy I know would be glad to have 
it ! ” 

“ Any boy you know is welcome to it,” replied Ed- 
gar. “ It got me into the scrape ; but it wouldn’t do 
the first thing to help me out of it. There’s so much 
iron on the runners, it almost sank without any of my 
weight on it. How long were you getting to me with 
those boards ? ” 

“ How long did you think ? ” 

“ It seemed to me half an hour ! ” 

“ It might have been half a minute,” said Roy ; “ it 
couldn’t have been much longer.” 

“ I was in such terrible agony,” said Edgar ; “and 
it seemed to me every moment that I must go down ! 
I should have given up — I couldn’t possibly have 
held out — if you hadn’t called to me and encouraged 
me. What I suffered was worse than dying ; but I 
seemed to feel that I must keep up, that you would 
save me. I was awfully selfish. 1 didn’t think of the 
danger to you ; but I think of it now. I shudder 


50 f 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


when I remember how the ice went down under the 
board when you first tried to pull me out.” 

At Mrs. Dilworthy’s request, Roy repeated his ac- 
count of the rescue, giving many additional particu- 
lars, and carrying the narrative down to the time when 
he mistook the coachman for a constable, and declined 
to present himself to the family in the attire loaned him 
at the laborers’ boarding-house. Then he had to go 
back to the beginning, and relate his principal adven- 
tures since that memorable night of the fire. He did 
not spare himself ; and his frankness, both in confess- 
ing his faults and in showing himself in a ludicrous 
light, which he did with amusing extravagance when 
he came to describe his experience with the dreadful 
horse, gave a delightful flavor to his story ; and, for 
two hours, he kept Lucy, Edgar, and their mother 
more entertained than they had ever been in their 
lives. 

The judge had withdrawn early in the evening; 
and, when he returned, he found Lucy and Edgar 
laughingly discussing with their guest the curious in- 
cidents of his escape from Drollers in the snow-storm 
and his adventure at “ Uncle ” Sam Paxley’s. 

The judge sat a little while, listening to the conver- 
sation, then remarked, that it was time for Edgar to 
rest, and offered to show Roy to his room. 

Roy thereupon rose, and, bidding the mother and 
daughter and son good-night, followed the paternal 
Dil worthy up two flights of stairs, to a cozy little bed- 
chamber, where two or three surprises awaited him. 


SOME PLEASANT SURPRISES. 305 

On the mantle, was a silver cnp to which the judge 
smilingly called his attention. 

“ The prize cup ! ” exclaimed Roy, reading the well- 
remembered inscription on the piece of paper which 
still accompanied it, — “ Won by Mr. A. T. Walker .” 
He laughed, and looked round at the judge. “ Where 
did this come from ? ” 

“ From Purley’s jewelry store, this evening. My 
son, Edgar, knew it was there ; and it was the first 
thing he thought of when I told him I had brought 
you home. It was a great pleasure to him to be able 
to redeem it for you, and have it placed here in your 
room, where you would see it.” 

Roy was glad to have that pleasant souvenir of the 
day when he first made Lucy’s acquaintance. 

“ Hello ! ” he exclaimed, “ what’s this ? ” 

As he handled the cup, some money, in bills and 
fractional currency, had fallen out. 

“ It is your pay for a week’s work on the ice, from 
Westbury and Company.” 

“ But — how — how happened it ? ” said Roy, still 
more astonished. 

“ It is very simple. I am Westbury and Company’s 
attorney ; and, when you told me of the hitch about 
your money, I immediately sent Jenkins down, with 
a few lines telling them it had better be paid, and ask- 
ing to have it sent up, on my responsibility, by the 
bearer. It was sent, of course.” 

Roy pocketed the money, with great glee. 

“ I’m richer now than I ever was before in my life 1 


306 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


I’ve had more money, but never money of my own 
earning ; and I find it’s only what a fellow earns that 
he really feels to be his.” 

“ Now,” said the judge, “ I want you to be perfectly 
at your ease here, and leave your affair in my hands. 
I don’t think there is any danger of your being dis- 
turbed at present. When I was out this evening, I 
took occasion to call on your friend Obed.” 

“ Ah? ” said Roy, with surprised interest. 

“Yes; and I took the liberty of saying to him, that 
you would be pleased to have him convey your re- 
spects to Miss Hogan, adding that you would not 
probably be able to call upon her.” 

“ I see ! ” exclaimed Roy, “ that was to take the 
sting out of his jealousy. It was very thoughtful in 
you ; and I suppose I had better not see Miss Hogan, 
accordingly.” 

“ He was immensely flattered,” said the judge. “I 
don’t think you need apprehend any danger from that 
quarter now.” 

“So much for having you for a friend ! ” said the 
grateful Roy. 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed the judge, turning back after he 
had once started to go, “ about the Tingley boy. I 
have concluded to take him for an office and errand 
boy, and give him as good a chance as he shows the 
ability to use. I thought you might be interested to 
know this.” 

“ Oh ! J udge Dilworthy ! ” 

“ Good-night, Mr. Rockwoodo” 


SOME PLEASANT SURPRISES. 


307 


And the judge was gone. 

Roy took a quick turn about the room, fairly crying 
with happiness. 

Then he sat down, and remained for a long time 
plunged in reverie, wondering at this singular turn in 
his fortunes, building hopes, and making grand reso 
lutions for the future. 

“I’ll throw away no more years of my life, in boy- 
ish follies ! ” he said, earnestly, to himself. “ When 
I’ve harvested and thrashed this crop of wild-oats, 
then I’m through with that kind of agricultural amuse- 
ment forever.” 

And he questioned whether he should go back and 
study medicine with his uncle, the doctor, — or how 
would he like the law ? 


308 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


CHAPTER X LI 


MABEL AND THE ROCKWOOD FAMILY, WITH OTHER OLD 
ACQUAINTANCES. 



ATE one afternoon, a few days after the events 


1 -v jnst related, a peddler, passing through the 
town, stopped at the house of Dr. Rockwood, in Bay- 
field. He wore a soft hat with a wide brim slouched 
heavily over his eyes, and carried a small travel- 
ing-bag. A servant-girl appeared in answer to his ring. 

“ Can I see the lady of the house ?” he inquired. 

He waited at the open door while the girl with- 
drew, and heard a voice — a clear, sweet, feminine 
voice — say, rather impatiently, — 

“ A peddler I suppose ; ask him his business.” 

He took a small package from his bag, and, the 
moment the girl re-appeared, began to rattle off, vol- 
ubly : — 

“Has the family a clock to clean, oil, or repair? 
Or can I sell them to-day a very useful article of 
metal-polish, the best thing in the market for giving a 
quick and brilliant polish to silver ware, plated ware, 
britannia, brass, spoons, tea-pots, door-knobs, bur- 
nished metals of all kinds, — only thirty cents.” 


MABEL AND THE EOCKWOOD FAMILY. 30 $ 

While he was speaking, a girl, or perhaps we should 
say, a young lady, came into the entry. The daylight 
was almost gone ; yet it was not so dark but he could 
see that she was a slender, bright-eyed brunette, and 
that she was laughing, probably at his lingo. 

“I don’t think we want any metal-polish,” she 
said. “ And I’ve a cousin who would take it as a 
great unkindness if we should let anybody else tinker 
the clock.” 

“ I don’t wish to interfere with' his rights at all,” 
said the peddler ; “ but, if you will allow me — ” 

The girl, standing near him now, face to face, and 
hearing him speak, interrupted him with a cry of 
surprise. “ Roy Rockwood ! ” 

“ Well, Mabel ! ” Roy said, in his own natural voice, 
and stood waiting to see what she would say or do 
next. 

Under his jaunty peddler’s air and glib speech, he 
had concealed a tumult of feelings on coming to that 
door — a rush of tender memories, shame, remorse, 
yearning affection, and a fear as to how he would be 
received. The sound of Mabel’s cheery voice, and 
the sight of her laughing face, wounded his love, — 
his self-love, at all events, — making him feel how 
little he had been missed or mourned. Would he then 
have had her sigh day and night over his absence, and 
bedew his memory with tears, while he, with robust 
heart and cheerful mind, was doing battle with the 
world ? Well, no, I don’t suppose he was so unreason- 
able as that ; yet, to return and find life moving on so 


310 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


placidly without him, the smooth and tranquil waters 
having closed so soon over his place, was not flattering ; 
and he could not help thinking, “It would be just so if 
I was dead, — in a month I should be forgotten ! ” 

So he stood, rather coldly as it seemed, but with 
a swelling heart, and looked from under his slouched 
hat-rim darkly at Mabel. 

“ O, Roy!” she said, “ I am so glad ! ” And she 
called, “ Mother ! mother ! it is Roy ! Where did you 
come from? Are you really a peddler? You don’t 
act like Roy ! The idea of your standing there, and 
merely offering to shake hands with me!” 

“ What more would you have me do ?” he said, his 
voice trembling and his heart yearning. 

“ Nothing, if you have forgotten that we are cous- 
ins — almost brother and sister ! ” 

“ Mabel ! I thought you were the one to wish to 
forget that! I didn’t suppose you would care to be 
kissed by such a reprobate as I am ! ” 

And, if I add that he cried a little as he caught her 
in his arms, I hope that even the most unsentimental 
reader will not think the less of him. 

Aunt Dolly came, and the good doctor ; and Roy’s 
heart, which had begun to soften, was quite melted 
by the affectionate and generous welcome they gave 
him. He felt that he deserved reproaches ; and they 
had for him only kind words and tears and smiles 
of joy. This was too much for him ; and he, who 
through every hardship and privation, since his own 
folly drove him from that home, had kept a brave 
spirit and a dry eye, fairly broke down at last. 


MABEL AND THE ROCKWOOD FAMILY. 311 

“Yes, Mabel,” (he answered his cousin’s question 
after they had brought him into the sitting-room, and 
taken away his hat and overcoat and bag, and he 
£ad had time to recover himself,) “ I am really a ped- 
dler and a clock-tinker, a horse-jockey, and I don’t 
know what else. And what is the news about town ?” 

“ Things are pretty quiet here now,” said the doc- 
tor. “We had the last sensation when Moses Mere- 
dith went off, and came back in three days in com- 
pany with an officer.” 

“ Where is he now ?” Roy asked, anxiously. 

“ Loafing about the village, as usual. He is out on 
bail'. All the boys who were arrested are out on bail, 
except poor Tommy Twombly ; there was nobody to 
offer bail for him, and he has gone to jail.” 

“ I hear that he and one or two others have charged 
me and Moke Meredith with setting the fire,” said 
Roy. “ That is what has brought me home. I am 
bound to tell the truth.” 

“ I am glad to hear that, Roy ; and it is what> I ex- 
pected.” 

“ You have heard, then — ” 

“ Yes ; Judge Dil worthy’s action in the matter has 
been talked over with a good deal of interest by the 
prominent men of the town. He is a man of great 
influence ; and everybody was of the opinion that his 
terms should be accepted — that you should be per- 
mitted to return and give your evidence, and remain 
exempt from arrest, unless it should be proved that 
you had deceived him, and that your evidence was 


312 


BOUND IN HONOE. 


false. He has written to Squire Davis as to what 
you will testify to ; and, though the squire and Miles 
Hocum both seem to feel aggrieved at the way you 
treated Drollers and his warrant, they consented to 
the arrangement.” 

“ And Drollers has had to ‘ make due return ’ of 
his warrant without his prisoner ! ” said Roy. “ That’s 
rather rough on Drollers ! I suppose he had a hard 
story to tell of my getting away from him.” 

“ Drollers don't seem inclined to say much about 
that; but the general impression is, that he didn’t 
come off with much credit to himself,” replied the 
doctor. “Was there some adventure with a horse on 
the ice ?” 

Roy laughed outright. 

“ I rather think there was an adventure with a 
horse ! But you have got two stories mixed up ; the 
ice was another affair. I’ll give you the correct ver- 
sion of both adventures by-and-by.” 

“ And tell us how you made a friend of Judge Dil- 
worthy,” said Mabel, accompanying Roy to his room, 
and carrying his water-pitcher. 

“ Yes, every thing ; you shall hear the whole story,” 
said Roy, his heart glowing with gratitude and com- 
fort, at finding himself in the dear old home again, a 
welcome guest, where he had feared to be regarded 
only as an outcast. 

She put down the freshly filled pitcher on the wash- 
stand. 

“Every thing, you see,” she said, “is about as you 
left it. 0 Roy ! how could you be so cruel ? ” 


MABEL AND THE KOCKWOOD FAMILY. 313 

“Was I?” said Roy, looking around the little 
chamber with suffused eyes. “ I didn’t mean to be ; 
for I — sometimes I thought you didn’t care very 
much for me, Mabel ! Tell me about it ! ” 

“ No, I won’t ! You don’t deserve to know ! ” And 
yet she went on, and told him how she heard him 
leave the house, and looked from her window, and 
would have given the world to call him back. 

“ If I could only have known how you felt ! ” said 
Roy. “ I am glad to know it now. And, Mabel, it 
seems so good to be back here again, and not be 
quarreling with you, as I used to! It was my fault, 
I know, that we were always quarreling ; and it will 
be my fault if we quarrel now.” 

“ No, no, not all your fault, Roy ! ” Mabel hastened 
to say. “I was always too quick and sharp with 
you. I have felt that — and — it has made me un- 
happy.” Then, she as hastily changed the subject. 
“ Here is your dressing-gown, just where you left it 
hanging ; and your slippers waiting for you. Don’t 
be a peddler any more ; but be a good boy, and stay at 
home, will you?” 

. And, with a bright, sweet smile, she vanished from 
the room. Roy looked after her, as she disappeared ; 
then, with a deep sigh of gratitude and happiness, and 
a devout upward glance, inwardly renewed his vows 
of loftier aims and a better life. 

After supper that evening, he sat with the family, 
as in the good old times, — except that never in the 
past had there been such glowing sympathy and per- 


314 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


feet confidence between them all, — and told the story 
of his adventures, until the doctor roared in his chair, 
and tears of merriment ran down Mabel’s cheeks, and 
quiet little Aunt Dolly’s eyes sparkled with fun over 
her frequent pinches of snuff. 

Something beside mirth, however, was excited by 
the interesting parts of his narrative. Mabel held her 
breath with thrilling suspense while he drew Edgar 
Dil worthy out of the water ; and somehow his en- 
thusiastic account of the Dil worthy family and of his 
renewing acquaintance with the 4 k Queen of the Ice,” 
made her singularly pensive all the rest of the 
evening. 

The next morning, Roy went out, and boldly showed 
himself on the street. Almost the first person he met 
was Constable Drollers. Roy put on as sober a face 
as he could, and offered Dumpy his hand, which 
Dumpy sullenly declined. 

“ What’s the matter, Drollers ? ” said Roy. “ The 
last time we met, you were only too eager to give me 
a good honest grip.” 

“ In the way of business^ yes ! ” growled the village 
constable. 44 And I should like mighty well to do the 
same now. But, when you come to friendship, I say, 
no ; I ain’t there ; my hand’s my own, and I don’t 
offer it to no slippery runegades.” 

“ Drollers,” said Roy, with persistent good nature, 
64 I’m sorry I’ve offended you ; and, while I admit 
that you’re partly right, allow me to say that you’re 
partly in the wrong. It was all in the way of busi- 


MABEL AND THE ROCKWOOD FAMILY. 


315 


ness that I gave you the slip. Wouldn’t you in my 
place have done the same, if you had been bright and 
spry enough, as I’m afraid you wouldn’t have been?” 

“ No ; and I wouldn’t ever have been in your place, 
neither ! You deserve state-prison, every one of you 
young rascals ! ” 

“ Well, Drollers, as to that, I for one have been 
bad enough ; and I don’t blame a respectable citizen 
like you for not shaking hands with me. Pure, ex- 
emplary, angelic Drollers, who never did any thing 
wrong in his life, may well frown upon a mass of cor- 
ruption like me ! ” 

Drollers, conscious perhaps of his own moral as well 
as physical grossness, grew fiery red, and winced. 
Roy smilingly went on. 

“ But there’s a good streak in the worst of us, I be- 
lieve, which you might make something of, if you 
would only cultivate it. Rogue as I am, I’m not will- 
ing to wrong an honest, simple-minded man like you 
out of a penny. How much did you pay Lizard for 
his horse, Drollers ? 99 

Drollers glanced around, as if he didn’t care to have 
the conversation in that respect overheard. 

“ I paid him five dollars out of my own pocket ! ” 

“ A good deal more than he was worth, allow me 
to say, Drollers, little as I know about horses. Does 
the town or the honorable justice’s court compensate 
you for the loss ? ” 

“ I hain’t said nothin’ about it yet,” replied Drol- 
lers, “ and I don’t know as I shall.” 


316 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ Well, I wouldn’t,” said Roy ; “ it isn’t a pleasant 
subject to talk about, for you, I know. Here’s your 
five dollars, out of my pocket ; and let’s hush that 
little horse story up.” 

Drollers was sure Roy was ready to burst with in- 
ward merriment at his expense, in spite of the serious 
jmd sympathetic face the young rogue put on for the 
occasion. But the five-dollar note, which was at the 
same time thrust into his hand, was a sober fact. He 
hesitated before taking it, and looked puzzled and 
amazed. 

“No joke about it, Drollers,” said Roy. “ After 
you lost the horse and paid Lizard for him, I found 
him, and sold him to another man.” And he briefly 
related the circumstances. By the time the story was 
ended, Drollers was good-natured, Drollers was com 
tent. 

“ I declare, Roy,” said he, stuffing the bank-note 
into his pocket, “ you’re an honest chap, after all ! I 
always said ’twas a pity a fine, likely lad like you 
should get into such a scrape ; and I hope — I’m glad 
there’s a prospect of you’re getting out on’t.” 

“ Thank you for your good wishes,” laughed Roy. 
He put out his hand again ; and this time Drollers 
shook it as heartily as he ever shook a hand in his 
life, — being a rather cold-blooded, flabby creature, 
for all his flesh. 

Roy walked on, and soon came in sight of the 
meeting-house sheds, the charred ruins of Morey’s old 
barn, and men nailing shingles on a new roof of the 


MABEL AND THE ROCKWOOD FAMILY. 317 

*ther barn, which had been partially destroyed by the 
memorable fire. The scene awakened any thing but 
pleasant recollections in his mind. He was regarding 
it rather ruefully, when Moke Meredith came around 
the corner. 

The meeting of the friends was not very cordial. 
Moke was morose ; Roy, cynical. 

“ You’ve come back, hey ? ” said Moke, 

“ Seems so,” replied Roy. 

“ I think you’re a dumbed fool ! ” 

“ No doubt I am, from your point of view.” 

“If I’d got away, I’d have staid away. You 
wouldn’t have caught me back here.” 

“ But it seems you are back here.” 

“ You know why,” said Moke, sullenly, as if Roy 
had been to blame for the fact. “ You got off from 
my uncle’s pretty well.” 

“ Yes, thanks to you,” Roy answered, sarcastically. 
“ It was very kind in you to claim that you were the 
true Moses, just at the right time ! And how manly 
it was to complain of me, as if I was to blame for your 
misfortune, and try to drag me into it ! Well, we’ve 
all been foolishly to blame in the past ; but I, for one, 
take a straightforward, honest course in the future. 
Are you with me ? ” 

Instead of answering directly, Moke began to com- 
plain of the false charge made against him and Roy by 
Twombly and Bradish. 

“ They thought, seeing we belong to the first fam- 
ilies, — my father a minister, and your uncle a doc- 


818 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


tor, — the easiest way fo * them to get out of the 
scrape would be to lay the blame on us, as if any 
thing we were concerned in would be hushed up.” 

“ If I remember, you took that view of the matter 
yourself,” said Roy ; “ and I warned you of your mis- 
take. What have you and the other boys owned up 
to?” 

“ Mighty little,” Moke replied. “ It’s mighty con- 
venient to have a poor memory when the lawyers are 
trying to corner ye ! What are you going to remem- 
ber?” 

“ Every thing,” said Roy, promptly. 

Moke turned greenish pale. 

“ You’ll lug us all in, as Iry and Tommy did, like a 
couple of thundering fools.” 

“ I shall corroborate their story where they have 
told the truth, and contradict it where they have lied, 
that’s all. That’s what I am here for. You’re lugged 
in already.” 

“ I know something that will spoil their chances . 
if it gets out,” muttered the minister’s son, vindio 
tively. “ Turkey Burnet told me, after they blowed 
on us.” 

“I guess it’s something I always suspected,” said 
Roy. “ They had a hand in the mill fire last spring ? ” 

“ Yes, they set it ; and it was Tommy that set Car- 
ter’s barn too. Can any one blame us now if we 
blow on them ? It’s these very fires that roused up 
such a feeling in the community about this fire.” 

“ Has Turkey any proof of what he says ? ” 


MABEL AND THE ROCKWOOD FAMILY. 819 


44 Yes ; they bragged to him and Herky Little of 
what they had done without being found out ; and 
Eyeteeth was with them when the mill was set, though 
he had nothing to do with it but furnishing them with 
whisky. It was their brags that induced Turkey and 
Eyeteeth to join them in this last scrape ; then Tur- 
key, to make the thing respectable, got me into it ; 
then you came along, and we got you to furnish the 
matches on purpose to have you mixed up in it.” 

Roy was a good deal excited by this revelation. 

“ And you had matches all the time ? ” 

44 Our pockets full,” laughed Moses, as if it had 
been a good joke. 

Roy’s eyes sparkled, and a cold smile played about 
his lips, which twitched a little. 

44 It wasn’t my idea ; don’t lay it up against me, 
Roy. It had been all talked over before you came 
along. They were going to get me to furnish the 
matches ; but I didn’t happen to have any — I don’t 
smoke ; I chaw. So they said, 4 Try it on the next 
feller, if he’s the right sort.’ The next feller was 
you. It was all understood, without a word, the 
minute you joined us. Now, to pay for my telling 
you so much, be easy on me in giving your evidence. 
I was led into it the same as you, you know ; you can 
say that.” 

44 How do I know that what you tell me is true ? ” 

44 About the matches ? If you don’t believe it, — 
there goes Dod Alcott ! ask him.” 

Eyeteeth was driving up the main street, in his 


320 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


father’s grocery wagon. Hearing a whistle and see- 
ing the boys, he reined up by the Meeting-House 
Square, where Moses and Roy came and stood by 
the wagon ; and the following conversation oc- 
curred : — 

“ Any thing to say, say it quick ; for I’ve got busi- 
ness,” said Dod. Looking around, he added, in a low 
voice, “ The fellers hadn’t oughter be seen talking to- 
gether.” 

“ See how cunning he is,” said Moke, admiringly, 
but with a sly wink at Roy. “ I believe all the 
bright ideas come from him. Say, Dod, whose plan 
was it to get me to furnish matches that night ? ” 

Dod looked quickly around again. 

“ I don’t know any thing about that night. I don’t 
know any thing about any matches.” 

“ Of course, we understand that,” said Moke, coax* 
ingly. “We don’t any of us know any thing about 
the fire ; do we, Roy ? Roy is all right. It was a 
mighty cute idea, Dod ; and we were saying just now, 
that it couldn’t have come out of any head but the 
cunning one — the head that proved a match for old 
Hocum’s.” 

“ He didn’t git much the start of me. I was up to 
him.” And Eyeteeth sniffed and grinned. 

“Do you know, Dod was actually the cause of Ho- 
cum’s patronizing the dentist ? ” said Moke, turning 
again to Roy. “ Fact. When Hocum was question- 
ing him, Dod kept turning his head. 

“ 4 What do you do that for ? ’ says Hocum. 


MABEL AND THE KOCKWOOD FAMILY. 321 

44 4 ’Cause your breath is bad,’ says Dod, sharp. 

44 1 tell you, he got the laugh on to Hocum ; and 
it’s been a standing joke ever since. Hocum went 
right to his partner, Packard, and says he, 4 Packard, 
have you ever noticed that I had a bad breath ? ’ 
Packard’s afraid of Hocum ; he don’t dare to say his 
soul’s his own while the old one is around. He kind 
o’ gasped and glared, and finally smiled, and said, says 
he, — 

44 4 To tell the truth, I have noticed it.’ 

44 4 And do you think others have ? ’ says Hocum. 

44 4 To tell the truth,’ says Packard, 4 1 have heard it 
spoken of by others.’ 

44 4 As a very bad breath ? ’ says Hocum. 

44 4 As a perty bad breath,’ says Packard. 

44 4 Why have you never spoken to me about it ? ’ 
says Hocum. 

44 4 1 have hinted it delicately as I could,’ said Pack- 
ard. 4 I’ve told you I thought you had a tooth that 
needed tending to,’ says he. 

44 One of the boys overheard this talk ; and there 
was a pretty general smile in the street when Hocum 
walked into the dentist’s office the next day. He 
went in every day for a week; and, every time he 
went in or out, folks laughed. All owning to Dod 
here — his ready wit,” Moke added, while Dod gig- 
gled and sniffed again. 

44 I’ll tell ye all I know about them matches,” said 
the cunning one, putting down his head, and speak- 
ing confidentially. 44 1 don’t know who first started 

21 


322 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


the notion ; suthin’ I said, I guess, — sounds like me. 
They all fell in with it ; and, when Roy come along, 
we was ready to try it on to him. That’s all I re- 
member. I hain’t got a very good memory for what 
happened that night, ye know ! ” and, sniffing and 
chuckling, Dod drove along. 

“ Got it out of him, didn’t I ? ” laughed Moses. 
“ Oh, ain’t he cunning ? ” 


IN WHICH ALL ENDS PLEASANTLY. 323 


CHAPTER X L 1 1 . 

IN WHICH ALL ENDS AS PLEASANTLY AS COULD HAVE BEEN 
EXPECTED. 

M ILES HOCUM, chairman of the board of select- 
men, was at his desk in the back room of his 
store, smiling genially over a missive which had just 
been brought to him from the post-office, when some- 
body said, — 

“ Good-morning, Mr. Hocum.” 

Miles looked up, and saw a young gentleman hat in 
hand, standing before him. His countenance changed 
somewhat ; but he continued to smile, as he re- 
plied : — 

“ Ah ! good-morning, Roy! When did you get 
home?” 

“ Last evening,” Roy replied. “ I’ve made it my 
first business to call and see you.” 

“ Thank you. If you had done so before you left 
town, it might have saved you some trouble.” 

“I’m sorry to have given anybody trouble, Mr. 
Hocum. But I’ve had a little myself. I wasn’t pre- 
pared to answer your inquiries before.” 

“ You are prepared now?” said Miles, with a smile 
of the utmost persuasiveness. 


324 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy took an easy attitude in his chair, crossed his 
legs, twirled his hat, and answered that he was. 

“ The matter has passed out of my hands,” said 
the selectman. “But I should like well enough to 
hear what you have to say before you appear and 
make your deposition before the justice. You have 
taken counsel of Judge Dilworthy, I believe?” 

“ I have made a confident of Judge Dilworthy; and 
he has undertaken to act as my friend,” Roy replied, 
with a tremor of grateful emotion in his tones. “ As 
I have nothing but the truth to tell, he advised me to 
come to you and tell it.” 

“ I think it very good advice,” said Miles, softly 
and pleasantly. “If what Judge Dilworthy writes is 
true, we shall be glad to have you as a witness, as we 
should have been in the first place if you hadn’t ” — 
Miles sheathed the harshness of the term in a sweet 
smile — “ run away.” 

“ If I had known what I know now,” Roy frankly 
made answer, “ I should have staid at home.” 

“ What do you allude to ? ” 

“ To this,” Roy answered: “ I have been told that 
the call on me for matches that night, was only a 
trick on the part of the boys to drag me into the 
scrape ; they had matches of their own all the while. 
More than that, as I learned this very morning on my 
way here, it was Tommy who set Carter’s barn, and 
Tommy and Iry together who set the mill fire last 
spring.” 

“ How did you learn that ?” Roy frankly explained* 


IN WHICH ALL ENDS PLEASANTLY. 325 

“ That’s a very important item, if true,” said Miles, 
excitedly, with a smile that glittered in his glassy 
eyes, and made a remarkable display of gold and ivory, 
where formerly the foul and blackened teeth had been. 
“ Will you go over now to Squire Davis’s office, and 
make oath to your statement ? ” 

“ There or anywhere,” Roy answered, readily. 

As they were about leaving the room, Mr. Ho- 
cum, putting away some papers, paused at the 
missive Roy had found him smiling over, and re- 
marked : — 

“ Here is a document that may perhaps interest 
you, Roy. I believe you know my nephew, Obadiah 
Hocum?” 

“ I have that pleasure,” said Roy, smiling in his 
turn. “ I have met him on two or three interesting 
occasions.” 

“ And do you know ” — Miles glanced at a name 
on a showily engraved card — “Miss Florinda 
Hogan?” 

“ Miss Hogan ! the excellent Florinda !” exclaimed 
Roy. “ She is a very good friend of mine.” 

“ I am glad to know it,” said Miles Hocum. “She 
is to be married to my nephew a week from Thurs- 
day ; and I have just received this invitation to the 
wedding. Now, if you please, we will go and see 
Squire Davis.” 

This business with the justice having been per- 
formed to his satisfaction, Miles Hocum, on their 
return, said to Roy, as they were about to part at the 
door of the store, — 


326 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


“ If you will step in a minute, Roy, I’ll give you 
something which I guess may be you’ll be glad to 
have.” Roy stepped in, accordingly, wondering what 
the something could be. Miles opened a private closet 
in his back office, and handed out something in a 
green baize bag. “After your sworn statement,” 
said he, “ I don’t know as there is any reason why 
you shouldn’t have this again. I hope you won’t 
take it to any more fires, Roy.” 

Roy clasped it in a sort of rapture. It was his 
violin. 


There seemed to be now every reason why Roy 
should be contented. He was free, and out of dan- 
ger ; he was restored to his home ; the worst conse- 
quences of past follies had been averted ; and he had 
only the present and future to care for. 

And yet he was secretly miserable. He could not 
feel at ease regarding his former companions ; and 
every thing associated with them and that last 
wretched crop of wild-oats filled him with pain and 
disgust. He was restless; he longed once more to 
get away from Bayfield. Mabel rallied him. 

“You wish to get back to your Queen of the Ice ! ” 
she said, with sparkling eyes. 

“On the contrary,” he replied, “I am thinking of 
going to selling metal-polish, and repairing clocks 
again. I can t settle down here ; and I must be doing 
something.” 


IN WHICH ALL ENDS PLEASANTLY. 327 


It was in this state of mind that a letter from 
Judge Dilworthy found him. It surprised and agi- 
tated him at first ; but it had the effect of clearing his 
sky like a thunder-shower. 

Roy explained the matter to his relatives. 

“ Before I left him, I had some serious talk with 
the judge about my future occupation; and I happened 
to say that I should like to be an architect, or some- 
thing of that kind, much better than a laywer or a 
doctor. He approved of my choice, and said he had a 
brother, who was quite eminent as an architect and 
landscape gardener. I never thought much more about 
it ; but now it appears he has consulted his brother, in 
my interest, and got a place for me in his office.” 

The news caused considerable emotion in the fam- 
ily ; and even Mabel and her mother, who consulted 
only their own feelings in the matter at first, were 
obliged at last to admit that this was an offer which 
it would be wise for Roy to accept. 

And accept it he did. As soon as the affair was 
decided, he became impatient to enter upon his new 
career; and, in five days from the receipt of the judge’s 
letter, he once more left his Bayfield home — under 
what different circumstances this time from the 
first ! 

By the judge’s invitation, he visited the Dilworthy 
family on his way to Boston, and passed a delightful 
day with them ; then pursued his journey, cheered by 
the additional good news that his home was to be in 
the family of his employer, and that Lucy Dilworthy 
often visited her Boston friends. 


828 


BOUND IN HONOR. 


Roy did not have to return, and give his evidence 
against the barn-burners on their trial, as he had ex- 
pected to do ; a circumstance at which he was greatly 
rejoiced. Since he made his statement to Miles Ho- 
cum, the whole affair had taken a turn which nobody 
anticipated then. As soon as it was known that 
Bradish and Twombly, who had given false testimony 
against others, were themselves the leading culprits, 
and that the setting of other fires, particularly the 
mill fire, could be proved against them, there was a 
strong reaction in favor of their companions, — of 
Moses Meredith particularly, who, on his father’s ac- 
count, not at all on his own, had a strong church in- 
fluence exerted in his behalf. The result was, that 
Bradish and Twombly were indicted, and afterward 
duly convicted and sentenced, for firing the mill; while 
prosecution for the later offence was dropped. 

The lesson of these events was not lost upon Roy. 
He had sowed the last of his wild-oats, and thence- 
forth only innocent recreations could divert his 
mind from his new profession, in which he took — 
and still takes — great delight. He has constantly 
risen in it and in the esteem of his employer, with 
whom it is said he is soon to be associated in busi- 
ness and connected by marriage. 


THE END. 


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instinctive dramatic action. He has never written an uninteresting book. 

Woodie Thorpe’s Pilgrimage, and other Stories. By 
J. T. Trowbridge. Illustrated. $1.25. 

“ The scenes are full of human interest and lifelikeness, and will please many 
an old reader, as well as the younger folks for whose delectation it is intended. 
As in all the books of this author the spirit is manly, sincere, and in the best 
sense moral There is no ‘ goody ’ talk and no cant, but principles of 
truthfulness, integrity, and self-reliance are quietly inculcated by example. 
It is safe to say that any boy will be the better for reading books like this.” 

— St. Botolph. 


Neighbors’ Wives. By J. T. Trowbridge. Cloth. $1.50. 

As a novelty, the following acrostic is presented. The praise from the dif- 
ferent newspapers is brief, but to the point. 

N ot in the least tiresome. — Troy Press. 

E xquisite touches of character. — Salem Observer. 

I ntroducing strong scenes with rare skill. — Gloucester Telegraph. 

G roups well certain phases of character. — New Bedford Standard. 

H appy sprightliness of style and vivacity which fascinates — Dover Legion. 
B y many considered the author’s best. — Journal. 

0 ne of the best of Trowbridge’s stories. — Commonwealth. 

R eader finds it difficult to close the book. — Hearth and Home. 

S toryall alive with adventures and incidents striking and vivid .—Dover Star. 

W hich is one of Trowbridge’s brightest and best. — Boston Transcript. 

1 s destined to be enjoyed mightily. — Salem Observer. 

V ery pleasant reading. — New York Leader. 

E xcels any of the author’s former books. — Montana American. 

£ tory is iii the author’s best vein. — New Haven Register. 

LEE AMD SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE. 


THE FAMOUS “OLD GLORY SERIES” 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

Author of “ The Bound to Succeed Series ,” “ The Ship and Shore 
Series “ Colonial Series ,” “ Pan-American Series ,” 

Six volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.25 

UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA 

Or The War Fortunes of a Castaway 

A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA 
Or Fighting for the Single Star 

FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS 

Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn 
UNDER OTIS IN THE PHILIPPINES 
Or A Young Officer in the Tropics 

THE CAMPAIGN OF THE JUNGLE 
Or Under Lawton through Luzon 

UNDER MACARTHUR IN LUZON 
Or Last Battles in the Philippines 

“A boy once addicted to Stratemeyer stays by him.” — The Living 
Church. 

“The boys’ delight — the ‘ Old Glory Series.’ ” — The Christian Ad- 
vocate , New York. 

“ Stratemeyer’s style suits the boys.” — John Terhune, Supt. of Pub- 
lic Instruction , Bergen Co., New Jersey. 

“Mr. Stratemeyer is in a class by himself when it comes to writing 
about American heroes, their brilliant doings on land and sea.” — Times , 
Boston. 

“Mr. Stratemeyer has written a series of books which, while histori- 
cally correct and embodying the most important features of the Spanish- 
American War and the rebellion of the Filipinos, are sufficiently inter- 
woven with fiction to render them most entertaining to young readers.” 
<— The Call , San Francisco. 



For sale by all booksellers, or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by 

LEE AND SHEPARD, Publishers, 

BOSTON 


AMERICAN BOYS’ BIOGRAPHICAL 
SERIES 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

AMERICAN BOYS’ LIFE OF WILLIAM McKINLEY. Illustrated 

by A. B. Shute, and from photographs. 

Cloth. 320 pages. Price $1.25, 

No more timely or patriotic book can be found than 
Mr. Stratemeyer’s biography of our late martyred President, 


COLONIAL SERIES 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

WITH WASHINGTON IN THE WEST; Or, A Soldier Boy’s 

Battles in the Wilderness. 

Cloth. Illustrated. Price $1.25. 

“ A thoroughly entertaining book.” — 2V.Y. World. 

V 1 ARCHING ON NIAGARA; Or, The Soldier Boy of the Old 
Frontier. 


for sale by all Booksellers , or -will be sent, prepaid, on receipt oj pries 03 

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers 

BOSTON 


War and Adventure Stories 

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

ON TO PEKIN 

Illustrated by A. Burnham Shute Cloth umo 330 pages $1,25 

BETWEEN BOER AND BRITON 

Cloth Emblematic cover Illustrated by A. Burnham Shute $1.25 


Ship and Shore Series 

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

T HREE volumes New style Cloth Il- 
lustrated Per volume $ 1 . 00 
Of standard writers of boys’ books there is 
quite a list, but those who have not read any 
by Edward Stratemeyerhave missed a goodly 
thing. — Boston Ideas. 

Mr. Stratemeyer gives his youthful readers 
plenty of adventures, but there is little that 
might not easily happen. His books are 
eminently “safe” ones, and their patriotic 
spirit will be considered admirable . — Home 
Journal , Boston. 

THE LAST CRUISE OF THE SPITFIRE 
Or Luke Foster’s Strange Voyage 
REUBEN STONE’S DISCOVERY Or 
The Young Miller of Torrent Bend 
TRUE TO HIMSELF Or Roger Strong’s 
Struggle for Place 


Bound to Succeed Series 

BY EDWARD STRATEMEYER 

T HREE volumes New style Cloth Il- 
lustrated Per volume $1.00 
Lee & Shepard have in Mr. Stratemeyer a 
new Oliver Optic. — Central Christian Advo - 
cate. 

Of standard writers of boys’ books there is 
quite a list, but those who have not read any 
by Edward Stratemeyer have missed a goodly 
thing. — Boston Ideas. 

RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE 

Or Striking Out for Himself 

OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH 

Or The Mystery of a Mine 

TO ALASKA FOR GOLD 

Or The Fortune Hunters of the 
Yukon 


To Alaska 
FOfV 
GOLD 


Edward 

$TR£reM€YE« 


BOUND TO 

succeeD 

se^es 




BOOKS BY EVERETT T. TOMLINSON, 


THE WAR OF 1812 SERIES 

Six volumes Cloth Illustrated by A. B. 
Shute Price per volume reduced to $1.25 

No American writer for boys has ever occupied 
a higher position than Dr. Tomlinson, and the 
“War of 1812 Series” covers a field attempted 
by no other juvenile literature in a manner that 
has secured continued popularity. 

The Search for Andrew Field 
The Boy Soldiers of 1812 
The Boy Officers of 1812 
Tecumseh’s Young Braves 
Guarding the Border 

The Boys with Old Hickory 

ST. LAWRENCE SERIES 

CRUISING IN THE ST. LAWRENCE 

Being the third volume of the “St. Lawrence Series ” Cloth 
Illustrated Price $1.50 

Our old friends, “ Bob,” “ Ben,” “ Jock,” and “ Bert,” having completed 
their sophomore year at college, plan to spend the summer vacation cruising 
on the noble St. Lawrence. Here they not only visit places of historic inter- 
est, but also the Indian tribes encamped on the banks of the river, and learn 
from them their customs, habits, and quaint legends. 

PREVIOUS VOLUMES 

CAMPING ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 

Or, On the Trail of the Early Discoverers 
Cloth Illustrated $1.50 

THE HOUSE-BOAT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 
Or, Following Frontenac 
Cloth Illustrated $1.50 

BY THE SAME AUTHOR 

STORIES OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION 

First and Second Series Cloth 'Illustrated $1. 00 each 



LEE (El SHEPARD, Publishers - BOSTON 


MY FRIEND JIM 

A STORY OF REAL BOYS AND FOR THEY 

By MARTHA JAHES 

Square 1 2mo Cloth Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill 200 pages $1.00 

As a sub-title to her latest book 
for young people, “ My Friend 
Jim,” Martha James has added 
the line “ A Story of Real Boys 
and for Them,” and it is a real 
book in the best sense of the 
word. As a testimony as to what 
one real boy at least thinks of it 
it may not be out of place to re- 
late a little incident which oc- 
curred Christmas week. 

Having missed one of the boys 
of the household, a lad given 
more to baseball and shinney 
than books, the writer was surprised to find him lying at 
full-length on a big rug before the fire in the library, deep 
in a book. 

“ Hello ! what are you reading?” was the exclamatory 
question. 

“ ‘ My Friend Jim,’ ” was the brief reply. 

“ Is it good ? ” 

“Well, I guess; it’s a dandy !” and with an impatient 
gesture that indicated that he did not want to be further 
interrupted, he turned his back toward his questioner and 
buried his face in his book. 

Jim is a country boy, strong and healthy in mind and 
body, though poor and humble, whose companionship is 
the means of improving physically, as well as broadening 
in mind and character, the invalid son of a man of means 
forced to remain abroad on business. Brandt, the city 
boy, spends the summer in the country near Jim’s home, 
and the simple adventures and pleasures of the lads form 
the interest of the story. — Brooklyn Citizen. 



LEE and SHEPARD Boston 






























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